


One More Light

by pierogis



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Canon Era, Fix-It, Gen, Javert Lives, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, an actual melodrama, irrational amounts of sarcasm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-11-16 22:53:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11262696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pierogis/pseuds/pierogis
Summary: After the June rebellion, Javert makes an attempt to return to his normal life. The circumstances and certain people don't allow him to do that.





	1. Lingering On

After the events at the barricades, life in Paris quickly went back to being more or less normal. Summer rains washed down the blood from the pavements, families mourned their dead or pretended that they were never acquainted with the revolutionaries, parts of the barricades were picked up from the streets and finally none grim reminders of the events of that June night were left there. Months have passed and so have the memories of the revolution.

There were, of course, people in Paris who were still haunted by the ghosts of that night. Even though they seemed to go along with the rest of the city, which was letting memories wash away, they were not able to really do the some, still reliving the revolution inside of their heads. One of these people was inspector Javert, though perhaps his reasons for it were different than these of the others.

On that night back in June, he had found himself standing on the parapet of Pont au Change, with his feet at the edge, staring at the black abyss below, the roar of the river muting any sounds that might have come from the sleeping city. He took a deep breath. Then he turned around and stepped back to the bridge.

It was most certainly not just a dramatic act. He had come there with every intention of letting himself fall towards the flowing water. It was neither easy nor pleasant to turn his back to the river after having come there. But there would never be too late for this. Death always remained an option - an unavoidable one, at the end. He did not decide not to jump. He had only decided not to rush it for now. First, he could try living. The river would wait.

The ones who had known a bit about him noticed some changes in his behaviour after that night. He had remained a police officer, but continued his work in a different manner than before. His usually focused gaze became more absent, sometimes he seemed to be staring through the person he was looking at, as if observing something invisible. 

With that, his famous stern behaviour softened as well. If anything, he became more likely to listen to explanations of the arrested, often choosing not to enforce the law when it was questionable whether it was necessary. The accused, who had seen their certain futures in prison as soon as they recognised the inspector, often found themselves confused but free after having explained their faults, or lack thereof. While explaining, they were not even sure if the inspector was listening - he seemed to be far away despite standing right before them. 

And so, his life went on. The local prisons turned a little bit emptier and some more people tipped their hats in a greeting when they saw him on the street. He seemed not to notice it, though he automatically tipped his own hat in response. Every once in a while, he also noticed a glint of familiar-looking white hair in the crowd. He would then pause, look away and quickly walk off in another direction.

Sometimes, he would stop during his patrols if he happened to cross a bridge. He would stand at the edge for a moment, watching the water flow below, before turning away and continuing with his work. It looked as if he was silently greeting the Seine.

Summer has passed quickly. His stops over the river were getting longer and more frequent. He has granted himself the time to think, but it did not seem to be working. Autumn came and passed, the river still awaited answers. Snow whitened the world around and then melted away, but he still had not moved on from this state, as if frozen in time. Only the sound of the roaring water in his head, that accompanied him everywhere, grew louder.

He still lingered in this absent state when on a chilling day in spring he strolled through the streets of Paris during a patrol. The temperature and the light fall of rain caused most Parisians to stay inside their homes. With only the ones who had to be there, the streets were rather empty. Beggars huddled in the corners, seeking a shelter from the rain, and others walked as fast as they could to reach their destination and escape the weather.

He was pulled away from his thoughts by a soft thud before him. Looking up, he noticed that a man walking before him fell down and was now laying on the street. Some of the beggars looked up, but did not move from their spots. A few people passed next to him, not granting him a single glance in their rush.

With some reluctance, Javert walked up to the man. Did he seem like a drunkard? No, he recalled, the man did not walk as if he was intoxicated - he walked slowly, supporting himself with a wooden cane. Old age seemed like a more likely reason for his fall than alcohol.

He sighed. At the very least, he had to get him off the street - he was a distribution here. He kneeled next to the man and shook his shoulder. “Monsieur?”

The man made an attempt to support himself with his arms and get up, mumbling something inaudibly.

Javert froze.

He recognised the voice.

He recognised the white curls that he could now see underneath the hat.

And, as the man managed to push himself to a sitting position, he recognised the face as well.

Jean Valjean stared half-consciously at the ground as he wiped the dirt off his cheek with the sleeve of his jacket.

Javert realized why he had not recognised him earlier - it seemed that during the past few months Valjean has aged at least a decade or two. His skin had a grey tint to it, his hand were visibly shaking, all of his movements were unnaturally slow. In no way was he similar to the man who managed to carry a dying boy through half of the city’s sewers not even a year ago - now he hardly seemed able to carry himself across the street.

His thoughts were interrupted by the man attempting to stand up. He supported his weight on his cane, but his legs seemed to give out.

Before he fell again, Javert grabbed him by his shoulders and pulled him up to a standing position. He bent over to look at his face. Perhaps it was not Valjean after all, just someone who looked similar? But the more he looked, the more he was certain of the man’s identity. He shook him lightly by the shoulders. “Valjean?”

The old man blinked at the sound of his name and looked up at him, squinting and furrowing his brow. It did not seem like he recognised him - or that he was aware of anything going on around him, for the matter of fact.

Javert let go of his shoulders. Well, what was he supposed to do now? Arrest him? No, he did not decide not to do that all these months ago just to do it now, so randomly. Besides, arresting someone in that state was rather irrational. Leaving him here also felt wrong. Wherever he was headed, he was in no state to get there. And if he had already lifted him off the street, was he supposed to just let him continue lying here?

Then perhaps he should escort him to the hospital? He most certainly was not healthy, after all. But, he thought, a private doctor would be far more effective in this case. Though this would possibly force him to stay there as well. He did not fancy spending the day dragging barely conscious Valjean across the city - his sole presence now made him uncomfortable enough; he wanted to resume his duties as soon as he could.

Then it dawned on him - he knew his address on Rue de l’Homme Armé. Though not written down anywhere, it has preserved itself in his head along with memories from the barricades. He recalled the map of Paris in his head. It was only a few streets from their current location - of course, after all how far could have this man gone? It was closer than any hospital or doctor that he knew of. This made him decide - he would get him there and let whoever will be there take care of calling the doctor instead - that was the best option.

Did this man even live with anyone? Well, he probably had at least one servant. He briefly wondered why did they even let him leave the house unaccompanied in such state. It was surely not something that he gained during the past few minutes.

So it was decided. He felt like trying to discuss the matter with Valjean would be utterly pointless - the man did not seem awake enough to even hear anything - so he just tugged at his sleeve, pulling him in the direction of the address that he knew.

To him, Valjean was walking annoyingly slow - as if he was sleepwalking. In an attempt to speed him up, Javert soon switched from tugging on his sleeve to walking next to him, supporting him by his shoulder, then he wrapped his arm around him and half-dragged him through the streets.

By the end of the walk, he was wholeheartedly sick of this situation. To make it worse, some people on the streets watched him curiously. Surely it must have looked like he was escorting some drunk friend. 

He greeted the sign marking the beginning of Rue de l’Homme Armé with relief. He wanted nothing more than to drop the man off here and leave as soon as he could.

He dragged Valjean towards the same building that he left him in back in June. He knocked on the gate and pushed it as it opened almost immediately. He looked around, but the porter was nowhere to be seen.

With a sigh, he looked at the stairs before him. Could he really not have lived on the ground floor?

Getting Valjean to walk upstairs took what seemed like aeons, but having accomplished it, he stood before what he supposed was the door to his flat. He raised on his hand and knocked.

There was no reply.

Louder, he pounded on the wood.

Again, he was met with silence.

Looking down, he realized that the key is in the door - they were unlocked. If there was nobody home, why would they leave the key here?

He supposed that dragging the owner here granted him the right to enter the apartment. He opened the door and pulled Valjean inside.

Looking around, he had to acknowledge that this was rather a modest place to live in, considering how rich the man was. But what puzzled him more was the lack of any signs of life. On the wooden table there was a plate of some uneaten food, but other than that the room hardly looked like people lived here.

His eyes locked on the armchair in the corner. He nearly tossed Valjean onto it, glad to be finally free of him.

Having done that, he looked awkwardly around the apartment. Well, what now? His daughter obviously was not here. Was he supposed to just leave? Perhaps she would return soon - maybe she went outside to search for her father? 

What troubled him was the lack of any normal objects that he would expect to find in a house inhabited by a girl and most likely a servant. There was just not a single item that would suggest it. He frowned. Over half a year has passed - what if Valjean has not even lived here by now?

He glanced at the door leading to other rooms. He could check there for signs of life but the idea of searching people’s bedrooms did not appeal to him at last. Perhaps he could ask the porter?

He looked at Valjean who was now curled up in the armchair, apparently asleep. He wondered if he would be of any help anytime soon.

He walked out of the apartment, closing the door behind him, and headed downstairs. He approached what was probably the door to the porter’s door and knocked, hoping for a better result than that in case of the apartment upstairs. He could hear the door unlock and a small, old woman opened them.

Before she could say anything, he held up his police badge. “Inspector Javert of the Paris Prefecture of Police. Does monsieur-” it took him a moment to remember what name the man was using, “-Fauchelevent reside here at present?”

Looking at the woman made him realise that perhaps it would have been better not to speak as a police officer - she seemed rather startled by the situation. “Oh- yes, he most certainly does, but- I don’t know- did he-” she started stuttering nervously, then shook her head, regaining control of herself, “Oh, my deepest apologies, I thought that it was him knocking at the gate, but was it you then, monsieur? Then I suppose that he’s not to be found here now. Would you-”

“I have already deposited him in the apartment upstairs,” he interrupted her. “I only wanted to make sure that it still does belong to him. But madame, do you perhaps know where I can find- well, whoever lives there with him? I have not found anyone at the apartment.”

“Deposited?- Ah, I suppose that you are looking for his daughter, monsieur. Madame Cosette no longer lives here - she got married a few weeks ago,” she explained. “But may I ask, monsieur - deposited? Is monsieur Fauchelevent unwell? Is that why you are here? I thought-”

Javert waved his hand impatiently.“Yes, he is, but madame,  _ please _ do answer my questions first. If his daughter...” he stopped for a moment and frowned. Daughter? A married one, too? It has been no more than nine years since he was a mayor of Montreuil-sur-Mer; he definitely did not have a daughter then. Unless he was hiding one from the public - enough time has passed since he left Toulon for him to have a daughter this old. Well, it is no use wondering about it now. “...is absent, how can I contact anyone else who lives there? A servant perhaps?”

“Monsieur, I’m afraid that you won’t be able to find anyone like that. Their servant moved away together with madame Cosette - monsieur Fauchelevent has been the only resident here lately.”

“Oh.” That complicated the situation. “Then I suppose that his daughter should be notified. Hopefully she has not left Paris?”

“To the best of my knowledge, she hasn’t, monsieur. Her husband lived in Paris, though I don’t know his address-”

“His name then?” Javert interrupted her again, feeling his patience running out. “Or any details?”

“Ah yes, I do know it, madame Cosette spoke about him often! Pontmercy was his name, if I’m not mistaken, Marius Pontmercy.”

Javert frowned. The name seemed familiar to him, though he could not pinpoint where he had heard it. Anyway, name should be enough to find the man. “Thank you,” he said to the portress, nodding. “Now, may I ask you a favour in monsieur Fauchelevent’s name, madame? It may be crucial for him to see the doctor as soon as possible. Please do call for one. He will cover the costs.”

The portress starter chattering in response but his thoughts have already drifted away. Pontmercy. A picture of a piece of paper, taken from a seemingly-dead body, with a few lines scribbled on it, appeared in his mind.  _ Of course. _ The boy who Valjean has carried from the barricade. So he was right - he was alive after all, and somehow survived.

That was... fortunate. He knew his address, at least. He could simply contact the Pontmercys and free himself from this situation.

Now that he thought about it... Marius Pontmercy has participated in the revolution. Did he kill anyone there? He was not sure, but he could get arrested for just taking part in the fights.

He could just send a letter. But why not have a word with the young revolutionary?

The portress’ rambling reached his ears again. The old woman clearly recovered from the initial shock of being questioned by a policeman - recovered too well, Javert thought bitterly. He was already sick of her gossip session, even without having listened to half of it.

“...and perhaps this is none of my business,” the portress went on, “but it has been ages since we have seen madame Cosette around! That is so cruel of her, not to visit her old father at all! And she seemed like such a good and loving child! You know, monsieur, I would have never expected that from her. Oh, but perhaps it's fault of that husband of hers! I always had a bad feeling about that boy, I did! And now monsieur Fauchelevent’s health has been getting worse, but these two rascals are still nowhere to be seen! It really is so horrible of them - such a nice old man. But he has been looking so pale lately, I suppose his time has come, oh well. And-”

“Madame, please,” Javert interrupted her, suddenly more uncomfortable at her words. Was Valjean  _ dying _ ? The thought seemed somehow surreal. He shook his head. “There is no need for the entire story now. We have more urgent matters on hand. Please do contact a doctor as soon as possible. And, if you excuse me, I will try to get the Pontmercys to pay a visit here.” 

The old lady agreed vigorously and Javert removed himself from the range of her sight before she could resume her chatter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The entirety of this was written at like 2 AM on my phone and I have no memories of half of it, enjoy the overly dramatic descriptions  
> This fic is already the longest thing I've ever written, maybe I'll actually be motivated for long enough to finish it
> 
> Stay tuned for more of Javert unwillingly going through social interactions


	2. Familiar Faces And Unfamiliar Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Javert pays a visit to Rue des Filles-du-Calvaire and delivers the news.

Though he decided to head to monsieur Gillenormand’s house immediately, he chose to walk rather than call a cab. It would be more than unnecessary - he gladly took the ten or fifty minutes it would take him to get to Rue des Filles-du-Calvaire on foot to think about what he should say.

He stood before the iron gate, still considering just walking away. It was none of his business. Still, something pushed him to knock.

It took a few minutes for him to introduce himself and ask to speak to madame Pontmercy - he decided that the situation concerned her more, so it would be better to talk to her first. After that, he found himself waiting in a spacious room, with three armchairs arranged around a small table and walls covered in paintings and bookshelves.

He seated himself in an armchair facing the door to see anyone who will enter. He examined the surroundings, not finding anything better to do while waiting. The owners were clearly rich and liked to show it - but that much one could tell from just looking at the outside of the enormous house.

He perked up when he heard the door creak. The person that entered was not one that he was expecting. Short, dark hair and a freckled, wide-eyed face, topping a lanky figure, clearly did not belong to Valjean’s daughter.

“It _is_ you!” the boy exclaimed upon entering, looking shocked. “You are _alive_!”

Javert raised his eyebrows at the unusual greeting. “I could say the same of you.” The boy looked far better than when he last saw him, but he had no doubt that this was the same person whom Valjean has rescued from the barricade - and one of the rebels that he saw on the barricade itself. “But I have some reasons to suspect that you are not called madame Cosette.”

“Ah, pardon me for this, but I had to come here when I heard who was the visitor! I thought that it was someone using a fake name, but it is truly you!” Marius beamed. “How can it be possible? You were led away to be executed, I saw with my own two eyes!”

Javert frowned. Considering the situation in which the boy last met him, this happy outburst was rather unexpected. “Obviously, I was not executed. But it is not the matter I came here to discuss-”

“But it means that monsieur Fauchelevent did not kill you, is that so?” Marius interrupted. “Ah, I am so glad! He is not a murderer after all!”

Javert sighed. “Yes, as far as I know, he is not. But concerning the topic of monsieur Fauchelevent-”

“Monsieur, believe me, I did not wish for your death! I realized that I knew you and I was about to protest but then I heard a gunshot-” he paused when he noticed the inspector glaring at him.

“Please. Let. Me. Speak.” Javert drawled.

Marius’ face went red with embarrassment. He nodded quickly and sat down on one of the free armchairs. “My apologies, monsieur, I am all ears.”

Javert took a deep breath. “Since you are here instead of your wife, just repeat it to her. Her father is sick, and neither me nor his portress are his nurses. Either go there or send someone. It doesn’t matter, just do it before he tries to wander off somewhere again. I have had quite enough of dragging him off the streets for today.”

Marius sat in silence for a while, as if processing the information. “It is fortunate that I came here first, monsieur. I will send someone there, but I must ask you not to mention the situation to my wife.”

Javert’s eyebrows rose. “And why is that?”

“If she knew, she would go straight to him, monsieur. It must be avoided,” Marius declared, suddenly with a stern look on his face.

“Why? Is he not her father? Why should she not see him?”

“Because...” Marius hesitated, “...because he is a bad person, monsieur.”

At this point Javert doubted if his eyebrows could rise any higher. “Elaborate?”

“I cannot, monsieur,” Marius shuffled in his seat uncomfortably.

Javert stared at him in confusion. Out of all people, he would never expect this boy to consider Valjean a “bad person”, especially considering that he saved his life.

Was it about him being a convict? Did the boy even know about this? Valjean has kept his past a secret from the public, but perhaps his son in law knew. Javert looked at Marius, who squeezed his own wrist nervously in silence. He could try to pressure him to say more, but Marius was far from eager to explain and he had no patience left for this. He could also just leave, but he got too curious to do that. So with a sigh, he decided to assume that the boy was made aware of Valjean’s past - if not, he already considered him a bad man, it would not do much damage.

“Is it because he is a convict?” he asked.

Marius nearly fell down from the armchair. “You know?!”

“Oh yes, I am aware of that.”

“But- but how has he not been arrested, then?”

“It was you who was supposed to explain something, boy, not me.”

“But then you know, monsieur! He is a thief! Not a murderer, perhaps, but a thief nonetheless! I cannot allow my Cosette to meet with such horrible people! And she knows nothing of that!”

“You are not letting his daughter see him because he stole some bread and a single coin almost two decades ago? _You_? Really?”

“Monsieur, this is not about that! It's about his entire fortune! Stolen from the mayor of a town Montreuil-sur-Mer, monsieur Madeleine!”

Javert leaned back in his seat, with increasing confusion written over his face. “Stolen from monsieur Madeleine?”

At this moment Marius realized that perhaps he should not have said that.

Javert stared at the boy’s horrified face in silence for a moment before he realized why he was not responding. “Look, I have no plans of arresting him and I doubt that anything you may say could change it. Just... what is this nonsense you are speaking?”

Marius seemed believe it, and started exclaiming again. “This is no nonsense, monsieur! I have concluded from all sources I could find that he gained all of his money from monsieur Madeleine. He denounced him - a good mayor who has brought prospect to the town - to claim his fortune! On the basis of some long-forgotten old crime! Then he falsified his signature to claim his money!”

Javert stared at him blankly for a moment. “So you accuse him... of denouncing... Madeleine?”

“Yes, monsieur, I am sure of this!”

Silence lasted for a second. Then, Javert snorted with laughter.

Marius looked at him in disbelief. “Monsieur, I am serious!”

“Oh, of course you are!” Javert chuckled. “Monsieur Madeleine was denounced, that is right! And you are looking at the very person responsible for it!” he waved his hand over his head. “And guess what I denounced him for! For being the ex-convict known as _Jean Valjean_ ! But do you know what is even more interesting? It turned out to be true!” he raised both of his hands, as if he was performing a dramatic monologue in a theatre. “ _Because Jean Valjean and monsieur Madeleine are one and the same person, you absolute idiot!_ ”

Marius stared in shock as Javert laughed. “But- this is not possible!”

“It is, I shall know! I have even personally arrested him for it!”

“But-”

“ _How on earth did you even reach that conclusion?_ ”

“Monsieur, I- I have been reading-”

“What, were you this desperate to add something more to his criminal acts? A man rescues you from the barricade and the first thing you do is create crazy theories about what are the worst things that he might have done in his life? And one would say that _I_ was the one going an extra mile digging out his past!”

“What- the barricade?”

“Ah, so amongst all these conspiracy theories _this_ is the one thing that you did not think of? How marvelous! And he didn't enlighten you either?”

“I-”

“Boy, who do you think got you home after the barricade? What, you crawled through half of Paris by yourself? The ghosts of your dead friends transported you? What do you think happened?”

Marius looked like he was about to have a stroke. “He- It was _him_?!”

“No, it was Napoleon! _Of course it was him, you booby!_ Was there even anyone else alive there?”

“I- I didn’t think-”

“Oh yes, I noticed that much.”

“But it means-”

Before Marius had a chance to finish, they both heard the door creak. Their heads turned towards it.

The person who entered the room wore an elegant blue dress and her brown hair flowed down onto her shoulders. She also had a determined look on her face, her gaze switching between the two men.

Marius leapt to his feet.

“I have heard everything,” the newcomer declared, staring at him firmly.

“Cosette, I-”

“How could you have thought such horrible things about my papa!” she exclaimed, tears suddenly welling up in her eyes. “Now I understand everything! But now he is ill, and this is all because of us! How could I allow this all to happen? This is so horrible! Marius, we must hurry!”

Cosette stormed out through the door, and Marius followed, calling after her.

Javert, who just silently watched the scene, was left in the empty room, staring in surprise at the open door. After a moment of hesitation, he got up and followed Marius and Cosette outside.

The entire house seemed to be in a state of alarm because of Cosette’s panicking. People were peeking out of various rooms and running here and there.

Javert retrieved his coat and hat while Marius and Cosette put on coats. Cosette ran outside first.

Marius turned around before walking out of the door, as if he just remembered about Javert’s presence. “Monsieur, will you join us?”

“No,” Javert replied simply, putting on his top hat.

Marius just nodded, then followed after Cosette in a hurry.

Javert walked out of the door and towards the street outside. He stopped for a moment and watched the carriage take off.

He realized that he did not even mention the topic of Marius’ arrest. He winced. Was it becoming some sort of a habit - ignoring criminals who ought to be arrested? But for now it was too late - the carriage with Marius inside has already driven away.

Will he ever arrest that boy, though? He was a revolutionary, true. But other than that? He did not seem like a corrupt, violent person in any way. Javert still did not know if the boy had killed anyone at the barricade. Still, arresting him seemed like a repulsive idea now.

Javert rubbed his temple, grimacing. He became so utterly useless in his job. Instead of arresting a revolutionary, he had sent him to visit his father in law - who, in fact, was also supposed to be arrested. This was all ridiculous. What kind of policeman keeps letting criminals go like this?

He shook his head and mentally added it to the growing list of thoughts that he was putting aside for now. Then he walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmm I guess this chapter is shorter (the next one won't be tho)  
> Half of this novel's problems could be avoided if people told Cosette things. Pls let Cosette know absolutely everything.  
> Honestly I just rlly wanted someone to shout at Marius  
> And IIII have no idea what I'm doing
> 
> Thanks everyone for all the attention you have given to this fic aaaaaaa


	3. The Haunting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Javert wants to be left alone and to forget about the whole situation, but he is not granted that.

A few days have passed before he saw any of them again.

One afternoon he returned to the police office after a patrol, and upon entering he was informed by the officer at the counter that someone was waiting for him upstairs. With a slight feeling of dread, he headed to the first floor.

The person sitting on a chair in the corridor lept to his feet as soon as Javert’s footsteps could be heard. “Good day, monsieur!” he beamed when he saw the inspector.

Javert sighed when he recognised Marius. “Good day, but what are you doing here?”

“Well, I did not get the chance to properly thank you!”

“To thank me?”

“For saving my father-in-law! Who knows what would have become of him, had you not intervened, monsieur!”

“Nonsense, I did nothing but my duty.”

“And you came and explained everything! Ah, monsieur, I cannot express my gratitude for that! You have truly saved the situation!”

Javert shifted around uncomfortably. “This was not my intention.”

“But you have done it!” Marius grinned. “You see, monsieur Fauchelevent wasn't exactly ill. His state was caused simply by not eating and sleeping for a long time, so he is already getting better now that he is being watched over.”

“You mean to tell me that this old idiot personally got himself to that point?”

“Yes, monsieur! He claims that he did not want any food or sleep. We have decided that he cannot live alone for now, and we got him to move in with us to the house on Rue de Filles-du-Calvaire. So if you would like to visit him, you will find him there. You can come anytime, monsieur!”

“Now why would I need to visit him? I already said that I have no intent of arresting him.”

“Oh, but... I assumed that you are his friend, monsieur?”

Javert stared at him, dumbfounded. “Which part of ‘I denounced him’ or ‘I arrested him once’ speaks ‘friend’ to you, exactly?”

“But you have helped him and you came to us! And he has helped you escape from the barricade earlier, has he not? I thought- are you really not friends?”

“I assure you that we are not.”

“Oh.” Marius looked clearly disappointed, but recovered quickly. “But monsieur, please do visit us either way! My wife would also love to speak to you, though she could not leave her father’s side now. And he would probably like to see you as well! Why don’t you come for dinner?”

“He would not, really. It will be better for everyone if I don't come,” Javert winced. “Now, you must excuse me but this might not be the best time for discussion. I need to make my reports.”

“Then may I wait until you finish, monsieur? I still have so many questions!”

Javert shrugged and unlocked the door to his office. “Come in, then.”

Soon they were both seated inside. Javert sat at his desk, filling empty pages with lines of tidy handwriting. Marius seated himself across the desk, watching the inspector, with the bag that was previously hanging across his shoulder now resting on his laps.

“So, monsieur,” Marius started, “you knew that it was monsieur Fauchelevent who saved me from the barricade and I was told that I was brought home by some man and a policeman. Was it you, then?”

“Yes, the policeman was me. But,” Javert said quickly, seeing Marius open his mouth again, “I have not been retrieving you from the barricade - he did that. I have merely met him at the exit of the sewers by pure chance,” he said and returned to writing.

“And you have helped him get me home?”

“I suppose so.”

“Than-”

“No, I appreciate your good intentions, but if you try to thank me a few more times, I will get you removed from here. I assure you that I had planned to do nothing that you might want to thank me for. If you are so desperate to thank someone, perhaps you should speak to Valjean instead.”

“But monsieur, I am grateful nonetheless, to both him and you.”

Javert glared at him and did not reply, still writing his reports. For a while, they sat in silence.

Marius took a deep breath, as if collecting his courage. “Monsieur, I need to know why you have decided not to arrest monsieur Fauchelevent,” he declared.

Javert looked up from his papers. “What? No, I will not explain myself. But speak of it any louder, and both of us might have to explain it to the prefect,” he winced. To think that it has come to this - he had to hide his actions from his authorities.

Marius paled and lowered his voice. “But monsieur, we must know if it is possible that he will face the danger of arrest in the future. If his identity is known to the police-”

“Nobody in the police force other than me knows it. Jean Valjean is considered to be dead. It has been like that for over nine years now. And as I said before, I have no intention of making use of my knowledge of the real facts. Unless someone will recognise him and notify the police, there should be no danger.”

Marius seemed to have calmed down. “I-”

“And the same goes for you.”

He turned pale again. “Me?”

“What, did you think that participating in the revolution is legal?”

“Oh,” Marius replied simply, looking rather horrified by this.

“Just try to avoid soldiers that might have seen you then,” Javert stated, then immediately winced at his own words. Advising an ex-revolutionary how to avoid arrest in his own office. Ah yes, his job was going _great_. He shook his head, pushing the thoughts away. “Actually, you mentioned before that you had recognised me back then. Do I know you from sometime earlier?”

“Hm?” Marius blinked, looking less distressed as he got distracted from the prospect of getting arrested. “Oh, I suppose you might not remember me, monsieur. I was here once to notify you about the attack on Monsieur Fauchelevent in the Gorbeau House.”

“Ah, so that was you...” Javert frowned, realizing what he just heard. “Wait, it was _him_ back there?!”

“Well, yes,” Marius replied, looking rather startled.

“So I was seconds away from arresting him!” he pounded his desk, huffing.

Marius stared at him with wide eyes. “But monsieur, you said that you were not going to do that!”

“Back then I would have done it with pleasure,” he mumbled angrily, leaning back in his chair and running his fingers through his whiskers. He then sighed. “Never mind about that. I have a question for you,” he rested his elbows on the desk and put his weight on them, bending toward Marius with a glare. “Explain to me,” he nearly growled,  “what exactly has stopped you from firing a pistol then as it was planned?”

“Well, uh,” Marius started nervously, going back to his scared state, “I have been eavesdropping on them. I have heard that Jondrette’s name is actually Thénardier. I couldn’t have let myself cause his arresting.”

“Don't tell me that you have taken a liking to that louse.”

“No, absolutely not! But you see, monsieur, during the battle of Waterloo this man has managed to save my father’s life. I despise him, but I have a debt to pay.”

“If this man has ever saved anyone’s life, it was probably an accident. He is charged with murder, amongst other crimes. Do you even realize what danger did you expose the people of this city to, risking that Thénardier and the Patron-Minette may remain free?”

“I could not have acted otherwise!”

“Even at the cost of letting murderers go?”

Marius’ pale face looked determined. “I really could not, monsieur! Though I did not know that he went as far as to kill,” he added in a quieter and less confident voice.

“It was horribly stupid of you, I hope that you are aware. You’re lucky that we arrested them anyway.”

Another moment of silence has passed, with Javert glaring at Marius, who sank into his shoulders and shifted awkwardly in his chair.

“But,” Marius jerked up suddenly, clutching his bag, “I never got a chance to return your pistols to you, monsieur! Though they have come to be of use at the barricade-”

“So my own guns were used in the revolution. _Charming_.”

“...and I'm afraid that they were lost there, as well. So I have come to give you these instead,” Marius declared with a smile as he took a wooden box out of his bag and placed it on the desk.

Javert looked at the box with slight confusion, then back at Marius. “I did not ask you to return these. There is no need.”

“But please do accept it, monsieur.”

“Others will think I’m taking bribes,” Javert sighed, but opened the box. Inside, there were two small pistols, similar to the ones that he had given to Marius before the Gorbeau House affair, but nearly wholly covered with engraved patterns. He picked up one of them. They seemed to be worth a few times as much as his old ones. He had no energy to argue with the boy for him to take them back. “Thank you.”

Marius grinned. “So, will you come to visit us, monsieur?” he asked quickly, wanting to use the brief moment in which Javert did not seem angry.

“That's still a no.”

Marius gave him a look of disappointment. “Why not?”

“As I said, me and Valjean are far from being friends. That would be an unpleasant experience for both of us and everyone around at best.”

“You can still give it a try, monsieur!”

“Look, I have been tracking him down for nearly two decades. Do you expect us to laugh about it while sipping tea? Absolutely not.”

“Please, monsieur! Me and my wife would be delighted to see you, and her father could really use some company.”

“Then you have chosen the single worst person for this role.”

“Or the only possible person! Even Cosette says that she can't remember anyone whom her father knows! Please, monsieur?”

“No,” Javert returned to writing his reports.

Marius sat in silence, disheartened, until Javert finished his work. He then waited until he turned them in and picked up the wooden box from the desk.

As they were leaving the building, the young officer at the entrance and Marius bid each other goodbye with grins on their faces. Javert observed it with suspicion. He was nearly sure that he would have to hear about his visitor from every junior officer working here for the next week.

When they walked outside, Marius made one more attempt at the invitation. “Is there nothing I can do to convince you to visit us, monsieur?”

“No. Stop bugging me about it.”

Soon after that, they have said their goodbyes and Marius, still clearly disappointed, took a cab back home, while Javert walked away in the direction of his flat.

* * *

 

Next morning, Javert was taken aback as soon as he entered the police station. What he saw was Marius leaning on the counter, chatting with the officer behind it while noting something down on a piece of paper. At the sound of door opening, they both fell silent and Marius turned around.

“Good morning, monsieur l’inspecteur!” Marius called, grinning.

“What now, did you decide to stalk me at work?”

“Of course not, I was just leaving!” Marius folded the piece of paper into his pocket and strode towards the door, walking past Javert. “Goodbye!” he called to both of the policemen as he left.

When the door shut behind him, Javert glared at the young officer behind the counter. “What was that, Auvray?”

“Him?” Auvray smiled innocently. “Ah, nothing, I just happened to meet him on my way to work and he came in for a second.”

“I’m sure of it,” Javert remarked, but he could not really accuse him of anything. “No conspiring or gossip at work,” he just commented before heading upstairs.

* * *

 

His bad feelings about Marius’ morning visit turned out to be accurate just a few hours later, when he was out on a patrol. While walking next to a marketplace, he spotted a familiar face in the crowd - but this time not Marius’.

Cosette was sitting on a bench, a basket resting next to her. She kept examining the faces of people surrounding her, clearly looking for someone. Javert nearly sighed when their eyes locked and the girl’s face lit up.

“Monsieur l’inspecteur!” she exclaimed as she stood up and rushed towards him. “What a surprise to see you here!”

“A surprise indeed,” Javert gritted his teeth. Is that why Marius came to the police station in the morning? To check where his patrol would take him and send his wife there?

“I have just finished my business here,” the girl smiled, swinging her basket happily. “Do you mind if I accompany you for a while, monsieur?”

He did mind. But something told Javert that even if he refused, Cosette would trail along. “Only if you don't disturb my patrol,” he said reluctantly.

“Of course!” she beamed and joined Javert as he resumed walking. “Ah, but I don't suppose that we've been properly introduced! I'm Euphrasie Pontmercy,” she bowed quickly.

“Inspector Javert,” he replied, briefly wondering how was Cosette short for Euphrasie. “Actually, why are you here, madame?” Javert raised his eyebrows. If both Pontmercys decided to follow him around, he could at least force them to admit it. If nothing else, that would at least feel satisfying. And perhaps he could embarrass them into leaving him alone. “I would assume that your servants take care of shopping.”

“Oh, usually that is right, monsieur,” Cosette spoke quickly, becoming slightly nervous. “But I must say that I quite enjoy doing it myself. Markets are such colorful and lively places!” she grinned.

The last sentence sounded genuine and Javert could not tell if she was serious about that - it did not seem like a pleasant place to him at all. Just when Cosette said that, some dirty kid ran in between them, nearly colliding with her dress. On their left, a merchant cursed loudly as some items from his stand fell down and rolled on the ground. Beside that, he could barely hear Cosette over the shouts of people bargaining prices. Yes, simply a wonderful place for a baroness to visit.

“It this one not quite far away from where you live, though?” Javert inquired, not giving up. “Surely there are markets on the other side of Seine as well.”

“Oh, of course, monsieur!” Cosette nodded. “But, uh, this one is special! Yes, I particularly like visiting it!”

“And why might it be so?”

“They sell very good...” she glanced around nervously, then stopped her eyes on the contents of the basket in her hand, “...oranges here! The ones from this market seem sweeter to me than any others!” she rambled on, instantly regaining her confidence. She held up her basket, filled with said fruit. “Would you like to try, monsieur?”

“No, thank you,” he drawled. This girl seemed to talk even more than Marius. He could already feel the incoming headache.

“Ah, monsieur, I must apologize for my behaviour last time we met,” Cosette changed the topic with a smile. “I never meant to eavesdrop, really! I was about to enter but then I heard Marius saying all these strange things- I'm truly sorry, monsieur!”

“I’d say you were supposed to know it anyway,” Javert shrugged. “If your dolt of a husband and that old idiot were going to keep everything from you, eavesdropping would actually be... understandable,” he rolled his eyes. “Judging from your reaction, this entire situation could have been avoided if you had known the facts.”

“Of course it would have been avoided! They are unbelievable,” Cosette huffed. “It could have all ended so terribly! So thank you for saving the day, monsieur!” she grinned at Javert and he sighed internally.

“Do not. Like I told your husband, it was my duty-”

“Duty or not, it saved my father!” Cosette interrupted him, the grin still not coming off her face. “And he would probably like to thank you personally, but he can not go outside for now, ” she locked her eyes on him, clearly conveying a request.

 _Not this again_ , Javert thought. “No, we are not on good terms, madame.”

“It can change,” she stated cheerfully.

“It can not.”

Cosette made a sad, pleading expression. “Please, monsieur? I have never known anyone who has known my father in the past!”

“For good reasons,” he mumbled.

“But you see, monsieur - you may be my only chance to learn something more about his past! He is still not eager to talk about his old days, you know.”

“Then I will not gossip behind his back,” Javert smirked.

“But monsieur!”

“Madame, if there is anything you wish to know, it is him whom you should ask, not me.”

Cosette crossed her arms, frowning. “Then you need to come and help me out with this, monsieur!”

“With all due respect, no.”

Cosette made a disappointed sound.

* * *

 

On that day Cosette had to leave him without having achieved anything. Javert soon realized that despite this, the Pontmercys were nowhere near giving up. From then on, either Marius or Cosette would show up on nearly every one of his patrols, constantly trying to talk with him and repeating the request for a visit. Additionally, he would occasionally get packages, delivered to him by Auvray when he was present in the police station. They contained anything from baked goods to a new pair of gloves.

The more desperate Marius and Cosette seemed to get him to visit, the more annoyed Javert was with the situation. Their chattering disturbed him during patrols and he was constantly half-expecting to be made fun of by some younger officers for the amount of packages he was receiving, or worse, accused of taking bribes. Still, the Pontmercys seemed deaf to his protests.

After about two weeks, all that he wanted was to end this strange situation. He needed to carry out his patrols in peace and he felt increasingly bad about the packages that he was getting. He decided that the sooner these two kids understand why he was refusing, the better.

On his afternoon patrol, he spotted a familiar face in the crowd before he was noticed - this time it was Cosette. He walked towards her. She noticed him, but before she could greet him, she was interrupted:

“If I do come to visit,” he asked, “will you two stop haunting me?”

Cosette agreed vigorously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is all Cosette's doing  
> Do u want more Marius?? No?? Too bad, you're getting Marius  
> I can't believe I actually wrote like 6 pages of Javert and Marius talking, why did it happen  
> Valjean will eventually appear and do things in this fic, I swear, it will happen soon (go away Marius)
> 
> Here have a doodle for this chapter: http://sta.sh/018jygcl3bb3
> 
> Thank you all so much for the comments and kudos, I love you all aaaaa


	4. Being Civil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Javert fulfills his part of the deal.

His plan was simple - to show Cosette and Marius that it was a terrible idea, then leave as soon as possible. He had no idea how Valjean would react to seeing him - they had not exchanged a word since he said “I'll wait here” about ten months ago. However the meeting would go, hopefully it would be enough to convince the Pontmercys to let him go for good. He just had to endure it for a while. Then everything would return to normal.

With that thought, he arrived at Rue des Filles-du-Calvaire, where he was let inside the house by a servant. Nearly immediately after he took off his coat, Marius arrived downstairs to greet him. They have walked together into a room with a small table set in the middle of it. 

Javert’s uncomfortableness grew with each moment, but at least he did not have to wait for long. Before he or Marius seated themselves at the table, they could hear the door open.

Cosette walked into the room, leading a white-haired man, whom Javert recognised too easily. Valjean looked much better than when he last saw him. He was still quite miserable as compared to himself at the barricades, but his skin no longer had the unhealthy grayish tone, nor did he appear to be that much older than he actually was. He clearly did not need Cosette’s aid to move around, though he still moved rather slowly, limping visibly.

Javert crossed his arms when Valjean looked up at him. Their eyes locked. 

Immediately, Valjean’s face grew pale. He tensed up, a look of panic growing on his face. He looked like he was going to either run away or faint on the spot.

Cosette noticed it and gripped his arm with reassurance. “Papa, calm down-”

“You cannot arrest me here!” Valjean exclaimed at Javert suddenly, causing everyone in the room to flinch. “Not now, not in front of everyone! Please, you cannot!”

Javert raised his eyebrows. “I am not here to arrest you, stop shouting.”

“You- you're not?”

“Do you suppose that I've been on vacation since June and only came back now to arrest you? Obviously I'm not.”

“But then why-”

“We've invited monsieur Javert to visit,” Cosette chirped, taking over the tensed situation and leading dumbfounded Valjean further into the room.

“More like bullied into coming,” Javert scoffed.

“...because we thought that you might want to talk to him personally, considering how he just saved you-”

“What?” Valjean’s eyes widened.

“Oh,” Marius held up his hand to his face. “We have never explained properly what happened then, have we?”

Javert observed him with a raised eyebrow. “Serves him right, I suppose,” he remarked. “The three of you are simply  _ great _ at sharing information.”

“I'm terribly sorry about that, monsieur, “ Marius mumbled.

“Well, yes,” Cosette hurried to explain rather nervously, while Valjean stared at her in shock. “It was monsieur Javert who brought you home back then, and came to us and explained everything! And- papa?” She looked at Valjean with concern as his whole body appeared to be shaking.

Valjean let out a sob. Then another one. He rubbed his eyes with his hand as he started crying.

Javert stared confusedly as equally surprised Cosette tried to console the weeping man. “Did I do something now?” he asked Marius, but the boy also seemed not to understand the situation. He shifted on his feet awkwardly. “Well,” he started, “you can see that it was a bad idea. I’ll be on my way now.”

He strode towards the door, leaving Marius behind. As he was passing next to the pair near the exit, he felt a hand on his wrist. He turned around to face Valjean’s reddened and wide open eyes staring at him.

“Why did you do that?” Valjean asked, immediately drawing back his hand as if it was burned. 

Javert scoffed. “Perhaps next time consider not laying down in the middle of the road.”

“But- why?”

“Let's all sit down first, won't we?” Cosette said cheerfully, suddenly realising that Javert was close to escaping. She pulled Valjean by the arm towards the table and looked back at Javert awaitingly.

Javert sighed but followed her. 

They have seated him across from Valjean. He was grateful for not having to sit directly next to him, but also rather unnerved - Valjean was constantly staring at him with what looked like slight disbelief. 

All four of them sat in awkward silence, interrupted only when a servant arrived to place a teapot and teacups on the table. Javert noticed, not without satisfaction, that Marius seemed way less sure about the meeting than before and Cosette occasionally casted worried glances toward her father. Was it enough to convince them how poor their ideas were - Valjean beginning to cry out of nowhere? Hopefully.

After a while, Cosette excused herself from the table for a moment and left the room. Before the door even closed behind her, Marius followed in her footsteps. Javert supposed that they wanted to discuss their plan - he hoped that they would now agree that it was a bad concept. But it also left him in a horrible situation of being in the room alone with Valjean.

When the sound of Marius exiting echoed around the room, Valjean raised his eyes from his teacup to look at the door, then at Javert with a pained expression on his face. “You shouldn't have told them.”

“Told them what?” Javert glanced at the closed door. He suspected that both Cosette and Marius were right behind it, but he supposed that the wood blocked sound well enough for them not to hear.

“Everything. My past, the barricade-”

“Well, of course.  _ You _ should have told them first. Too bad you didn't.”

“No, I mean- they were not supposed to know.”

“You've told that boy a part of it, though.”

“And that was enough! But Cosette-”

“She has learned everything by an accident,” Javert explained with a flick of his hand. He was definitely not going to apologise for that. “And about that being enough- enough for what? For you to get yourself to die without these two knowing?  _ That _ was your plan?”

Valjean’s face paled. He made no answer.

“Oh, it was, wasn't it?” Javert drawled. “To make a martyr out of yourself?”

“It would have been better,” Valjean almost whispered.

“Better for whom? For them?”

“Yes!” Valjean exclaimed louder. “I shouldn't be here, they don't- they don't  _ need _ me!”

“But apparently  _ you _ need them.”

“That is not important! Here I am only a burden for them-”

“Ah yes, they seem simply  _ crushed _ by your presence.”

“-and what if my past gets revealed? And they will be associated with it? Now they are harbouring a criminal-”

“Jean Valjean has been officially dead for a decade now. How many people do you think are looking for you?”

Valjean stared at him for a while in silence.

Javert sighed. “I have known for almost a year and did nothing, how much more clear do I need to make myself-”

At this moment he heard the door open and he jerked back - he did not even realize that he started leaning forward while talking. Cosette and Marius have entered the room, apologising for their absence. Javert briefly wondered if they have heard anything, but nothing about their expressions or behaviour seemed to suggest so.

The creaking of the chairs sounded deafening in the sudden silence as Cosette and Marius returned to their seats. The atmosphere somehow seemed even heavier than before. Valjean gripped his teacup as if he was about to break it and stared at its contents, while Javert occasionally shot him an angry glance. Both Cosette and Marius seemed rather uneased by it.

“So,” Cosette clasped her hands with a sheepish smile on her face, “papa, monsieur Javert, where do you know each other from?”

Valjean made no response, staring stubbornly at his tea.

“Madame, do you really wish to touch upon this topic?” Javert moved his glare to her.

“Perhaps-” Marius started, but did not continue as he noticed Cosette nodding.

“Did you first meet when papa was a mayor?” Cosette asked, focusing her eyes on Javert.

Hearing the question, Valjean lifted his head and gazed at her. Javert noticed that he looked like he was about to start weeping again. “No,” he responded, shaking his head lightly.

Javert wrapped his fingers around the teacup, feeling the heated porcelain scald his skin. He centered his focus on the sensation.

Cosette ran her eyes between Valjean and Javert a few times. “When then?”

Silence fell, interrupted only by the sound of Marius nervously scratching the ornaments on his teacup. Valjean hung his head. 

After a moment, Javert turned his head to Cosette. “I worked as a prison guard before.”

“Oh,” Cosette responded simply, then blinked. “ _ Oh _ ,” she said again, this time with realization.

Valjean’s head sunk lower into his shoulders, as if he wanted to disappear. Again, a tensed silence filled the room.

Javert took a sip of his tea, emptying his cup, then put it down with a sigh. “I believe it is time for me to leave,” he said, standing up from his chair.

“No, wait,” Valjean twitched at this and pushed his chair away from the table.

“Wait for what?” Javert narrowed his eyes.

“You- I still need an explanation-”

“Well, you're not getting it. I'm leaving. “

“Why did you not wait back then? And now, why-”

“I'm leaving, Val-”

“You have never let a criminal go!” Valjean leapt to his feet, causing the table to shake. 

Seeing this, Cosette pushed her own chair back, preparing to get up when it becomes necessary. 

“Not a single time for all these years,” Valjean continued, setting his hands at the table and staring at Javert, “not even for the smallest of crimes! So why me, a recidivist and a parole-breaker? A lifelong criminal?”

“Papa, don't say such things about yourself!” Cosette cried out, but Valjean seemed not to hear it. 

“You've helped me-”

“I will do whatever I deem right,” Javert hissed in response. As he heard his own words, he clenched his fist, scratching the inside of his palm. He was not supposed to be doing what  _ he _ deemed right. He should be doing what was right according to  _ the law _ , not his own judgement. And the law called for this man's arrest. But he could not do that. 

“ _ Right _ ?” Valjean repeated after him in confusion.

“I'm  _ leaving _ ,” Javert drawled again, pushing his chair back towards the table. 

“I will accompany you to the door, monsieur,” Marius said, standing up. Javert could have sworn that Cosette shot him a quick glare at that.

“Good,” Javert replied, then marched towards the door without waiting for Marius. The boy hurried after him.

Cosette and Valjean have joined them in the hall when he retrieved his coat.

“Are you sure you do not wish to stay for longer, monsieur?” Cosette asked without much hope for it giving any results.

“It is late and I have work to do, madame,” Javert explained. It was not a lie, but also not the main reason why he wanted to leave. He buttoned up his coat completely despite the fairly warm weather outside.

They have bid their farewells quickly. Cosette seemed like she wanted to ask him something more, but on the other hand Marius appeared to be slightly relieved to end the stressful situation. Valjean looked like a ghost - his mind seemed to have slipped far away from the current situation. 

Javert left and walked quickly back to his apartment, not stopping even for a second but also not bothering to take a cab.

He has decided that he has been waiting for long enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> VALJEAN MAKES AN ENTERAAANCE
> 
> I swear I'll stop with my bad humour in this fic now  
> (for a while)  
> Marius finally shut up, yey I guess??  
> Also let's just assume that I have no consistent chapter length  
> And  
> Javert no
> 
> Here have a dumb doodle for this: http://sta.sh/04ypjyss5fk
> 
> I love every single person who has paid any attention to this fic, thank u <3


	5. Candlelight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the visit, Javert makes decisions and carries out his plan.

If anyone would have been observing the windows of inspector Javert’s apartment then, they would have noticed that a candle in the room, lit at sunset, kept burning until the very sunrise. It was not exactly unusual for the inspector to stay up late or only take a short nap in the morning, as he had a habit of taking his work home when he considered it urgent. If anyone would have noticed it, they would have no reason to be disturbed.

Javert left for work early, perhaps looking just a little bit less energetic and more tired than usually.

On his patrol, he kept looking around with caution. Nobody had disturbed him. For the first time in over two weeks, neither Cosette nor Marius came to find him during the day. They have kept their promise - he had agreed to their invitation, so they would no longer bother him. He was glad to be left alone with his work and his thoughts.

After returning to his office, he surrounded himself with paperwork. Carefully sorting through files for various cases, the scratching of his pen on paper could be heard for long after his shift was supposed to end. This was also not outside of his normal behaviour - he usually stayed a bit longer, sometimes for many hours if he considered some paperwork necessary to be finished quickly. So nobody questioned him when he remained locked inside of his office after it became dark outside.

He finished as much as he could, filled all the necessary reports and created detailed notes for the unfinished cases. Before leaving the office, he had arranged the papers into piles, carefully marking which ones belonged to which case. By the time he walked outside, the streets were nearly empty save for the homeless. The moon was lighting his way as he walked back to his apartment.

That night again a candle flickered in his window for long after nearly the whole city has gone to rest. Occasionally, he could be seen in the window, walking across the room with his arms crossed behind him - a dark silhouette passing through the dimly-lit square.

Hours have passed before the candle was blown out. Just a moment after that, muted creaking of the stairs could be heard from outside of the building. Then the door opened and the inspector left.

He did not have his cane or hat with him, but his black greatcoat was buttoned up perfectly. He walked quickly, passing the empty streets of  Paris without being noticed by anyone but the rats. The bottom half of his face was covered by the collar and his expression could only be seen in his eyes. They seemed empty - he stared at the space ahead of him without seeming to notice anything, appearing to be lost in thoughts. That look would have been disturbing, had he not worn it for months.

If anyone were to walk into the apartment that he abandoned and to light the candle back up, the first thing that they would lay their eyes on would be the objects placed carefully on the middle of the desk, clearly meant to be seen. The biggest one was an envelope - carefully sealed and addressed with a clean handwriting to the prefect of the police. Next to it, Javert’s police badge rested, stating his name and age - like a signature of the author of this arrangement. On the side, a smaller envelope was signed with the name of the landlady - it obviously contained some coins. On the top of it, there was a ring with two iron keys on it.

Other than that, nothing seemed out of place in this room. There were barely any signs of life. Any everyday objects that could have been found there, though there were never many of these here, have been tucked away into the wardrobe and the drawers. The room already looked abandoned.

His apartment wasn't what bothered Javert when he reached his destination. Pont au Change was towering above the glistening surface on the Seine, not having changed a bit for the past year. This place has became awfully familiar to him. As always when he approached this point, he was struck by the sensation that the roaring of the river, always present at the back of his head, suddenly became physical, filling his mind with the sound of water and causing a sting of panic.

It has been too long, he told himself as he stepped on the bridge. Has it really been almost a year since he first came there? It felt like much less; he had stopped noticing the passing of the time. Now he felt a pang of guilt about it. What was taking him so long?

He had told himself back then that he needed time to think and consider the two paths he could go, to choose wisely - it has been a lie, has it not? He had made the decision long ago. It all boiled down to arresting Valjean or letting him be, and he made his choice before he even fully realized it. Saying that he was considering the options was just lying to himself; on the contrary, for the past year he was stubbornly avoiding thinking about it. Until suddenly he could not - he was confronted with Valjean, he announced his decision, it was standing in the light of the day, mocking him. Inspector Javert, unable to act according to the law, _breaking_ the law by harbouring a criminal. A miserable excuse of a policeman.

He should have died on that barricade, along with all these schoolboys. He was no better than them. Valjean should have shot him back then - he would be right then and the world would be in order. Instead he lived with the sky crashing down around him, which he calmly ignored. Until now.

It is high time, he thought to himself as he laid his hands on the parapet of the bridge. It has been a year, he did nothing, he did not come to understand anything, not even his own decisions. And he could not go on forever ignoring this. He had to acknowledge that all of his life he has been wrong, that he did not understand the world like he thought he did - this idea taunted him, driving him mad.

He could not understand, so what he was supposed to do was to turn in his resignation. First, a resignation from his job - it rested on his desk, safely tucked inside an envelope along with a few other pages of writing. He did not want to risk it being discovered early, which might have happened if he had sent it or left it at work, so he left it up to his landlady to pass it on. He had left her a compensation for her effort in the envelope together with his rent. He hoped that it would be enough.

He calmed his breathing, which at some point became quick and shallow. As coldly as he could muster himself to, he ran his thoughts through his recent actions. It has proven to be much more difficult than it should be - the roaring of the water below him seemed to drown each thought, causing a slight feeling of lightheadedness. Still, he did not notice anything missing - he has done all that he should before his second, long overdue resignation.

With that, he pushed himself up onto the parapet of the bridge. He straightened his back and looked up. He dimly remembered that when he came here in June, the sky was clouded. Now it was the opposite - without a single cloud in the sky, the stars were perfectly visible. He did not know which was worse. They seemed to look at him with accusation in their distant light.

With a sigh, he looked down. The swirling water below seemed black, occasionally reflecting a single gleam of light in a short shine, as if trying to mimic the stars. It did not feel like water - he felt as if he was standing over an abyss, even more distant and infinite than the sky above. It has been waiting for him since June and it shall wait no more.

He took a deep breath.

Then he felt a tug on the back of his coat.

He swayed as the sudden force pulled him back a little. Instinctively, he pushed himself in the opposite direction, turning his upper body to see who was behind him with a raised elbow aimed to hit them and automatically taking a small step forward.

His foot dangled over the abyss, not finding support. He lost his balance.

“No!” the voice behind him shouted, grabbing his elbow and pulling him back towards the bridge. His foot landed back on the stone parapet as he was forcibly turned toward the man behind him.

Javert froze when he saw the face before him. _Of course_ it had to be him. Who else would it be?

“What are you doing here?” Javert growled.

“No, what are _you_ doing here?” Valjean shot back at him, wide-eyed, clutching the material of Javert’s sleeve. His pale face nearly matched the colour of his hair, though it was barely visible from underneath the rim of his worn hat. Next to him laid a suitcase, which he must have dropped earlier.

“That is none of your business,” Javert snapped, pulling his arm from the other man’s grip. He straightened his back, looking down at Valjean from the height of the parapet. “ _Leave_ ,” he hissed, minding to make his voice as collected and hostile as he could. It still cracked a bit.

Valjean, his hand frozen in midair, gazed back at him with a terrified-looking expression on his face. “Why are you standing on the parapet?”

“Not your concern.”

“Are you-”

“Go away, Valjean,” Javert growled, clenching his teeth. He felt that it was getting harder to keep himself together. This man was not supposed to be here. Nobody was - he did not predict that, he was not prepared for that. Sticking to a plan that he calmly and carefully created before, without having to think about it anymore - that was simple. He only had to follow through the last step, which he had decided on beforehand. Now his plan was falling apart and it felt like he was too. He needed to get this man away from here before he falls into pieces.

Valjean seemed to have noticed that. He reached for his hand. “Javert, step down-”

Javert whisked away the hand held out in his direction. “Valjean, I'm warning you-” he moved backwards minimally while saying that.

Valjean twitched as he noticed that and threw his hands forward, but froze when he saw that Javert was still standing and glaring down at him with anger.

“Stop,” Javert drawled with visible effort.

“Are you going to _jump_?” Valjean’s voice rose at the last word. A rhetorical question.

“Never you mind,” Javert crossed his arms - mostly to hide that his hands were shaking. He immediately realized that perhaps he should have just lied, but the idea of lying still repulsed him.

Valjean gaped at him, apparently taking it as a yes. “Why?”

“Leave, Valjean,” Javert growled as he turned his back to him, facing the river again. He did not know what to do now. Should he carry on and jump, ignoring Valjean’s presence? Trying to convince him to leave did not seem to have any effect, it just felt draining. He wanted to end it as soon as possible.

Valjean grasped the edge of his coat, causing Javert to glare back at him over his shoulder. “If you try to jump,” the older man announced with certainty in his voice, “I will jump too and personally drag you out of this river.”

“Good luck with that,” Javert scoffed, but dread arose in his heart. “You've been barely alive just about three weeks ago. You'd drown as well.”

Of course he would do that. That damned philanthropist could and would willingly risk his own life - even for such a lost cause as Javert. And it created a good chance of either both of them dying or both of them surviving - each option seemed equally horrible.

That would make just jumping now not an option. Committing suicide but risking surviving? He could try again, but just how many times would he have to do it before he would succeed? Or risking dragging Valjean down as well? Well, that was Valjean’s own decision. He should not care about it. But he also did not break all of his own rules by not arresting him for this man to drown while trying to stop him from doing so. That would just be _wrong_.

He had to get rid of Valjean’s presence somehow.

He pressed his hand to his face, feeling how cold his fingers were against his own skin, and breathed deeply. He felt as if he was detached from his own body and even mind. It was not like him.

He blinked, realizing that he has spaced out for a moment. Did Valjean respond somehow? He was not sure, the only things he had heard were his own stream of thoughts and the constant roar of the river.

He exhaled, clenching his teeth and freezing his face into his usual frown. Just make Valjean leave, then he can end it all.

He turned around suddenly, tearing his coat away from Valjean’s hand and balancing himself dangerously on the edge of the parapet. He wrinkled his nose in anger when he noticed that Valjean jumped up a bit at the sight of that.

How should he even make him leave? Normally, he would intimidate others into living, but Valjean would not be affected by that, he knew it. What else then?

“I will not jump,” the uncertain sentence rolled off his tongue. Well, he will not jump _right now_. “You can leave.”

It did not sound convincing even in his own ears.

Valjean looked up at him, a mix of worry and tension visible on his face. “Come down, then,” he requested as he extended his hand.

Javert ignored it and leapt onto the bridge. It immediately made him feel worse - he felt more exposed when no longer looking down at Valjean from the height of the parapet, even if he still remained significantly taller. He regretted not having his hat with him. He pushed his hands into his pockets, scratching the skin next to the nail of his thumb to help himself stay focused.

He looked at Valjean with furrowed eyebrows. He was met with just the same horrified expression.

He realized that he will not get him to leave him alone like that now. Even if he would leave, Valjean would probably stay somewhere nearby and watch. No, he had to find another way.

They stared at each other in silence for a moment. Then Javert turned around and with no further comment walked away in the direction that he came from earlier.

“Wait-!” Valjean took a step in the same direction.

“Goodbye. Go home,” Javert growled over his shoulder. He sped up, leaving the shocked-looking Valjean behind on the bridge. As soon as he could, he turned into one of the narrower streets to disappear from Valjean’s line of sight.

He walked fast - hopefully too fast for Valjean to follow, considering his limp. He heard no footsteps behind him, so he wasted no time wandering around the streets.

He took a straight route back to his apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3c  
> Here are some dumb doodles for this chapter: http://sta.sh/2mt62ibouhz
> 
> Look, idc how many times has Javert being dragged away from that bridge been written, I will never get bored of it and absolutely will write it  
> The beginning of this chapter has been so pleasing so write. Idk why I love writing such stuff. It's so overly dramatic. I love doing it.
> 
> This and the next chapter were originally supposed to be one chapter but like. I already have twice as meny words for the next chapter. I might just break it into 3 shorter chapters, idk
> 
> I'm slowly coming to the realization that maybe publishing sth that I'm writing in a foreign language at 2AM without having it checked by someone might not be the best decision, so please do point out any dumb mistakes
> 
> Anyway, thank you for all the lovely comments and kudos!! <3


	6. Breaking in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Javert refuses to wait.

He entered the building carefully, not wanting to wake anyone up. He snuck back into his apartment - he had left the door unlocked before, with the key laying on the desk on the other side of the room. He didn't bother to fetch it and lock the door now - it did not matter. 

Leaning back on the door, he darted his eyes around the apartment. He could barely make out the shapes of the furniture in the faint light of the moon and street lamps seeping through the window. 

He walked up to his desk and opened one of the drawers. He rummaged through its contents blindly until he fished out a ring of a few small keys. He squinted at the object, trying to find the one he was looking for, then with a huff of frustration reached for the candle and lit it.

A warm light filled the room, casting heavy shadows on the walls and making Javert’s surroundings a bit more visible. He blinked a few times, getting his eyes used to the light, and placed the candle on the side of the desk. He could now see the drawers of his desk and the bookshelf standing next to it, the shadow of a small table to his right and a fireplace to his left.

He found the right key and reached towards a locked drawer in the desk, unlocking it. 

Going back to the bridge was not an option - Valjean might still be lingering somewhere around there. But he was not about to give up his plans because of it. It was just a brief inconvenience. 

From inside of the drawer he picked up a small flintlock pistol - he always kept one loaded in his room in case his duty called suddenly. In a way, it was duty that called him now.

He held up the pistol, seemingly inspecting it closely, though his thoughts were far away. It was not his preferred method of dying, but he supposed that it would make him no difference after he’s done with it. Still, a gunshot could alarm everyone nearby - perhaps he should shoot through a pillow?

He tensed up when he heard some sound from behind the door. He recognised the creaking of the stairs. Confused, he turned around, tightening his grip on the gun. 

The door flew open.

Before he realized what was happening, a blurred shape crashed into him, knocking him down. He felt a grip on his wrist, making him drop the pistol. 

He saw the gun sliding across the floor. It hit the wall on the other side of the room with a quiet clunk that broke the sudden silence that started when he froze.

He did not even have to look up to tell who was the person that now kneeled at the floor next to him.

Instead, he looked at the pistol, lying far beyond his reach. He looked at the hand locked on his wrist, keeping him in a sitting position, unable to stand up. He looked at the open door which he could not reach. And then he fell apart.

Before he realized it, he felt a warm trickle of tears on his cheeks. He inhaled sharply, then forced himself to stop breathing before he could make any sound, and covered his mouth with his free hand. His other hand clenched into a fist, nails digging into the inside of his palm. Still, he could not stop his body from shaking.

He felt a warm hand on his shoulder and froze for a second. He realized that his wrist was now free. He leapt to his feet and quickly stumbled towards the door, fighting the feeling that he might fall down at any moment.

Before he even reached it, the door was slammed closed and Valjean stood in front of it, blocking him from exiting.

He felt the panic rise in his chest. He refused to turn back now. Like a hunted animal, he looked around for a way to escape. 

His eyes locked on the gun - it lay close to the door - could he reach it in time? Without a moment of hesitation he leaped towards it. 

Too slow - he saw Valjean’s hand land on the pistol. He stepped back as the older man quickly returned to his post in front of the door, holding the gun close to his chest.

Javert’s heartbeat raced as he glanced around anxiously. The door was not an option, neither was the gun. Without thinking much, he spun around and jumped towards the window.

His foot was already on the desk, hand reaching for the handle above it, when he felt a hand wrap around his chest, pulling him back to the floor. 

With that it seemed like all the energy has left his body. He did not know what to do, how to escape - he felt powerless, like a child. He felt the tears well up again in his eyes. Collecting all of his remaining strength, he blindly swung his elbow backwards. It hit a hard surface which he assumed to be Valjean’s shoulder, but it gave no effect. 

He prepared to try again, but instead the hand that trapped him now pulled him back. He felt his back being pressed against the other man’s chest and another hand wrapped around him, pinning his left shoulder to his body and causing him to lose his breath for a second.

He did not notice it before, but he realized that tears were dripping down his face again. He rubbed them off with his free hand. Then he gripped the wrist of the man behind him, trying to peel his arm off himself with no avail. With both of his hands, he gripped the arm, digging his nails into the man's skin, and tried to pull it away. Either because Valjean was stronger than him or because he was rather shaky now, he could not move it at all. 

He saw a drop of water from his own face fall on the floor and he rubbed his eyes with his sleeve aggressively. He felt the man behind him press his head to his back, muttering something in a calming voice, but he could not make out the words. He  _ hated _ it - he hated that man for stopping him, and he hated feeling so helpless, he hated that he could not trust his voice enough to say something, he hated himself for that. He kept trying to free himself, but he could not even calm down his breathing enough to make his hands stop shaking. 

He gave up on that, shut his eyes tight and focused on calming down his breath. He had to drive Valjean away.  _ Fine _ . He could do that. Maybe. If he could just force himself back to his normal state first.

For a few minutes, the only sounds in the room were Valjean’s muttering and Javert’s breath slowly going from ragged and shallow to more regular. 

“Let go of me,” Javert demanded hoarsely as soon as he was sure that he could speak without his voice breaking.

With some hesitation, Valjean complied - but when Javert turned around, he immediately grabbed his wrist.

Javert shot him an angry glare - it might have been effective, had his eyes not been reddened and his face swollen. 

“How did you even get here?” he asked as coldly as he could muster himself to.

“I followed you from the bridge and then saw in the window- God, Javert, why are you doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“The gun-”

Javert gritted his teeth. “Perhaps I was simply going to clean it-”

“Clean it? In the middle on the night? Still in your coat? Right after returning from the bridge?”

He stared him dead in the eye. “Yes.”

“You're a terrible liar. And lying doesn't suit you.”

“Good to hear that, you can leave now. Where is that damned gun?”

“You said you won't-!”

“I said I won't jump. I'm not jumping. Where is the pistol?”

“On the floor,” Valjean replied gravely.

Javert then took a step to walk next to Valjean and towards the door where he assumed the gun was, but he was stopped by a hand pulling his wrist and another one landing on his shoulder.

“And for now it will stay there.”

“This is my gun, Valjean. I demand it back.” Javert narrowed his eyes.

“No. Why are you doing this, Javert?”

“Again, this is none of your concern.”

“It is now! You can’t do that!”

“I will do whatever I please. Give me back that gun and  _ go away _ .”

“I cannot allow it-”

“Said the man who almost got himself killed merely three weeks ago.”

Valjean’s face went pale. “It- It's not-”

“Not the same? Really? How so?”

“I-”

“You allowed yourself to do that, now allow me.”

“I did not die!” Valjean protested.

“You would have, though. And you have the nerve to stop me from doing so? You have no right, Valjean. Leave.” Javert clenched his fists. This pulled his attention from the topic of his own life and death enough to make him sound genuinely angered rather than about to cry. That was good - perhaps he could manage to drive Valjean away with this.

Valjean’s head sunk into his shoulders, but then he immediately looked up at Javert with determination. “Maybe. Maybe I don't have the right to ask you this. Or to be here. But I am. And I  _ will _ stop you, whatever you try to do.”

Javert scowled. “This is my apartment. You have broken in.”

“You didn't lock the door.”

“I didn't need to. It doesn't mean that you can enter.”

Valjean looked around. “There are not too many things in here, are there?”

“What? What are you on about?”

“Is there a pen on the desk?”

Javert furrowed his eyebrows with confusion. “Yes. Why-”

“And some paper?”

“As well. What do you need it-”

“And the key to the door?”

“Yes, what is this nonsense-”

“Great.” Still holding Javert’s wrist and dragging him along, Valjean walked towards the desk and snatched the ring of keys that he noticed laying there. 

“What? Wait, leave it-” Javert attempted to free his wrist with no avail. He was dragged towards the door.

Before Javert did anything to stop him, Valjean bent down to pick up the pistol from the floor and slid it into the inner pocket of his jacket. Then he extended his hand towards the door, and tried to lock it with one of the keys from the desk. The door clicked and the ring of keys landed in another pocket.

With that, Javert’s wrist was suddenly freed. Valjean picked up a suitcase that laid next to the door - Javert assumed that he dropped it here when he barged in. He walked back towards the window, and turned around, leaning back on the desk and putting the suitcase on the floor.

Javert stared with disbelief. “You can't keep me locked inside my own house!”

“I can and I will, until you come back to your senses,” Valjean crossed his arms.

Javert made no reply. What could he do? There was no way of escaping the room or reaching any weapon without having Valjean stop him. The hopelessness of his situation struck him again. What was he supposed to do before he could go? Did he have to convince this man that it was the only way?

He had no will to converse with him now. But even more he did not wish to be stopped. He has been waiting for too long, and he has made his decision - he did not do it only to be halted now.

He could not go out through the door. One window was blocked by Valjean. He would probably be caught before he could reach the other one. No weapons were close enough for him to use them. A wave of helplessness washed over him again, but he pushed the feeling back. He had to seem rational.

“Javert?”

He shuddered when he heard the worried voice. It made him realize that his mind drifted away for a moment again - he has been staring absently at some undefined spot in the room. 

He shook his head lightly. Perhaps sleep deprivation was getting to him. After all, this was his second night in row with no rest. He was duly aware of his own exhaustion, especially after his outburst earlier. It left him feeling completely drained. One more reason to solve the situation quickly.

“Why did you try to jump?”

Javert blinked, turning his eyes back to Valjean. The man was standing a bit closer now. Javert squinted at the worried expression on his face.

“Look,” Valjean sighed, “ I know that I’m the last person that you might want to talk to now but there is nobody else around and I don't see you waiting until morning. You need to talk to someone to get through this-”

“I am not planning to get through this!” Javert snapped. “That was the point! I don't need to talk to you or anyone else, I need to get back to that bridge-”

“You’re  _ not  _ going back to the bridge! Javert, this is not the way! You cannot do it to yourself!”

“This is my decision, Valjean, and mine alone.”

“Then tell me the reasons for it!  _ Is it my fault _ ?”

Javert blinked. “What?”

“We've met and the very next night you're standing at the parapet- did I cause it somehow?”

“No,” Javert scoffed. “I merely decided to do what I should have done long ago.”

“Long ago-” Valjean inhaled sharply. “The barricade night? That’s when you started behaving strangely.”

Javert shifted uncomfortably on his feet. Valjean was getting dangerously close to the truth and still was not eager to leave. Would telling him now drive him away?

Valjean noticed his expression and realized that he was on the right track. “What happened at the barricades?”

“Why do you ask? You were there.”

“I mean- what happened it make you do  _ that _ ?”

Javert just glared at him.

Valjean decided to change his tactics. “Are you refusing to arrest me because you decided to die?”

“What? This is nonsense, Valjean.”

“If you made both of these decisions then-”

“Then I swear,” Javert snarled suddenly, “that if you keep making me put away one of them, I will change the other one instead and drop the entire police force of Paris on your head,” he glared at Valjean with fury. “ _ I mean it _ .”

Valjean’s face grew paler, but he put on a solemn expression. “Do it then. I told you that I was at your command back then,” he paused. “But then I'll ask Cosette to keep an eye on you instead.”

“God,  _ no _ ,” Javert turned his eyes to the side.

Silence fell for a moment. Javert frowned and looked back at Valjean to find him studying his face with wide eyes. “What now?” he growled.

“It's the other way around, isn't it?” Valjean mumbled with a look of realization.

Javert skewed his head in confusion.

“You did not go away then because you decided to die - you decided that  _ because  _ you didn't arrest me? Is that so?”

Javert stared at the floor, avoiding his eyes. He could not bring himself to deny.

“Oh,” Valjean muttered. “Oh, God.” For a while he looked at Javert, who hid his face in the collar of his coat. “That can't be all, can it? You wouldn't-”

He stopped when Javert’s cold glare turned to him for a second.

Javert then turned his eyes back to the floor, almost closing them clenching his teeth. 

Suddenly, two hands appeared in his field of vision.

“Arrest me, then.”

He stared at Valjean’s wrists extended towards him with a puzzled look on his face. 

“That will fix it, right? You will do your duty, justice will be served, I will be back where I was supposed to be? Just please don't let Cosette know about that, she doesn't need to know. I-”

“I can't,” Javert mumbled, frowning slightly at the hands in front of him.

“What? Of course you can, just... do you have the handcuffs?”

“I mean- I  _ can’t, _ ” his shoulders dropped. “ _ I can't _ ,” he repeated, as if surprised by his own words.

Valjean blinked in confusion. “Why?”

“Because it would be  _ wrong _ !” he nearly spat out the last word, raising his voice suddenly. “Because you don’t belong in prison, because the law is mistaken,  _ because somehow you are not a bad person _ ,” he growled it like an accusation. “Want to fix it? Go outside and, I don't know, murder someone on the street or something, prove that I have been right all along, that people don't change,  _ go ahead and do it _ ! Because all that you do is keep proving that I have been wrong all of my life! Why are you still here, Valjean,  _ why can’t you let me go _ ?!”

The last word echoed startlingly loud in the silence that came after it.

Javert realized that he has been shouting - it would have been a miracle if he hadn't woken anyone up. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then took a deep breath and looked at Valjean.

He furrowed his eyebrows when he saw Valjean standing with his head bent slightly, with tears dripping down his cheeks. “Why are you crying?” he growled with anger, noticing how hoarse his voice became.

Valjean flinched slightly at this sound. Then he stepped forward and embraced Javert, pulling himself close to his chest.

Javert froze at that. He thoughtlessly raised his hand to his face and noticed that there were also marks of tears on it. Has he been crying while speaking without even noticing it? He rubbed his eyes with the top of his hand but he could not stop his own tears from dripping.

Valjean clung close to him, visibly trying to stop himself from sobbing. “I'm sorry,” he mumbled, the words half-muted by the fabric of Javert’s coat.

Javert stood there awkwardly, not sure how to react to the situation, teardrops still marking his cheeks. After a moment, he wiped his face with his sleeve. “Get off me,” he growled; it sounded way less commanding than he intended.

Valjean hesitantly detached himself and took a step back, rubbing his face with his hand.

“And give me back the keys,” Javert added.

Valjean’s head jerked up as he looked at Javert with a mix of terror and disbelief. “How can you ask that?”

“It's for the best, Valjean; give me the keys.”

Valjean gripped his wrist, but he barely registered it. Now that he had calmed down, most of all he felt absolutely  _ drained _ . He did not feel like he could carry on arguing for much longer, not with the constant buzzing inside of his head combined with a headache. It seemed that he got completely exhausted by his outbursts.

Valjean, however, was not even nearly convinced. “Don't do that, _ you don't deserve that _ .”

Javert just squinted his eyes, frowning slightly. Yes, apparently he did not deserve to die with dignity. Here he was, being robbed of that privilege for a second time, again by the same person. “Why?” he mumbled, directing the question more at his own thoughts than at Valjean.

Valjean huffed, tightening his grip on Javert’s wrist. “Because you're not a bad person either!”

Javert looked at him with some confusion.

Before he made any sort of answer, he was excused from doing so by the sound of church bells coming from outside. He inhaled air sharply, looking at the window. He realized that the candle has went off already - the light coming from the windows illuminated the room enough to make the change unnoticeable to him. It was dawn already. He did not realize how late it was when he initially left his apartment.

It was light outside, and it meant that there were people on the streets already. So it was too late. He could not thrown himself off a bridge on the eyes of passerbys. The opportunity has passed, he had to wait another day. He clenched his fists.

Valjean, who also turned to look at the window, watched the light with a tint of sadness in his expression. “I have to go back before Cosette wakes up,” he muttered quietly.

“Go then,” Javert gestured at the door, stone-faced.

Valjean turned to face him, wide-eyed again. “I can't-”

“I have a job to attend, anyway,” Javert crossed his arms.

“No. Call in sick.”

“I am not sick.”

“Yes you are.”

“No, and I will not miss my job because of that. Go, before that daughter of yours starts panicking. Actually, why did she even let you outside-”

“Come with me, then,” Valjean interrupted him quickly.

“What? No.”

“If you will stay here, I will stay too. And if you decide to go to work, I will follow you there as well. Don't you understand? You are not getting rid of me until I can be sure that your mind is back on the right track-”

“It is,” Javert grumbled.

“...so you might as well save Cosette’s nerves.”

“Go and save her nerves yourself,” Javert snapped back.

Valjean pouted and looked at him in silence for a moment. Then he took the keys out of the pocket of his jacket. “Come. We're going,” he said as he grabbed his suitcase and then walked towards the door, dragging Javert along by his wrist.

“What are you- let go of me,” Javert protested, attempting to free his wrist with his other hand.

Valjean paused with the key already in the keyhole, trying to open the door with the hand holding the suitcase, and looked back over his shoulder. “I'm really sorry for this, but I need to get back and you cannot be left alone now. Besides, I don't know what you might come up with in your own apartment. Now, please don't attract too much attention on the street - I suppose that neither of us want it,” he unlocked the door with a click. “But I will drag you through there if I have to.”

The door opened and Javert was forcefully pulled through it, and then down the stairs. He could not free himself - Valjean was simply much stronger than him. All he could do was follow, spitting out angry remarks. 

He only stopped when they reached the door leading outside, which Valjean pulled open. The gentle morning light seeping through the entrance seemed blinding to him. He could see a few people walking through the street. Valjean was right - the last thing he wanted right now was the attention of strangers.

“I will call out for help for being kidnapped,” he growled in a last protest.

“Then I will have to explain the situation to the police,” Valjean shook his head. “Don't.  _ Please _ .”

At the lack of reply, Valjean grabbed his elbow instead of wrist and headed outside. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mmmMMMM  
> It's the first time I'm publishing a chapter without having the next one fully written and I'm leaving on vacation, so it might be the end of weekly updates. I'll still try tho, I'll still try  
> If you're as much of a visual person as me you might appreciate having the plan of Javert's apartment/room: http://sta.sh/01ucj45zsaom (yeahhh it's in Polish but still)  
> "Go outside and, I don't know, murder someone on the street" - life advice from Javert
> 
> This might be a good time to mention the song that this fic got its name from: https://youtu.be/3kaUvGSLMew


	7. Visitations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valjean is trying and Javert is having none of it.

The world outside was blinding to Javert, despite the sunlight still being gentle and barely illuminating the shadowed streets. Everything around seemed too bright and loud for his aching head. He felt like the pink sky was mocking him - it was the night that was appropriate for his thoughts, not the dawn.

He kept up with Valjean’s pace, not to pull attention by being hauled through the streets. They walked side by side, not exchanging a word nor a glance.

At some point they walked over the Seine - it was not _his_ bridge, but Javert instinctively stopped, looking absent-mindedly at the river. Immediately, he felt that Valjean’s hand gripped his arm tighter. He turned his head, snapping back to reality. His glare was met with Valjean’s look of concern, which only aggravated him further. After a short moment of silence, Valjean pulled his arm lightly. Javert begrudgingly complied, continuing their walk.

They reached the Gillenormand house without being interrupted by anyone save for a few curious glances from strangers on the streets. Valjean knocked on the gate and they had to wait for a short moment before they were let inside by the servant, who was apparently awake by now.

“Have monsieur and madame Pontmercy woken up already?” Valjean asked the servant hastily as soon as they entered. When he received a negative answer, he sighed deeply with relief, as if he was holding his breath until now.

Javert tilted his head slightly but made no comment.

Valjean led him into a room - the same room which he had visited previously, he recalled. Javert sat down on the small sofa next to the fireplace and observed as Valjean talked to the servant art the door, asking him to carry his suitcase to his room. The other man nodded, asking no questions.

Javert looked around briefly, trying to find possible ways of escaping. He was not about to agree to being imprisoned here; he planned to sneak away as soon as Valjean’s attention would be diverted enough. The problem was, he saw no simple way of doing so other than the door that he just walked through. There were no other entrances and the only window, though big enough for him to walk through it without as much as bending his back, led directly onto the street. Even though he could use it if he could open it, escaping through here would attract unwanted attention from the people outside. It was preferable for him to sneak out through the door.

Having considered this, he leaned back on the sofa, crossing his arms. Without anything better to do, he observed as Valjean spoke to the servant. He did not realise that he no longer made out any words, hearing the conversation as a stream of ununderstandable noise. He narrowed his eyes, looking at the two men absently, then closed them completely.

When Valjean finally turned around, he realized that Javert was asleep.

 

* * *

 

Javert’s eyes fluttered open - and then immediately shut down again as he groaned at the bright light seeping through the window. Opening them just slightly, he tried to make sense of his situation. With some confusion he realized that he was not in his apartment and that the amount of light in the room suggested that he should be long awake by now.

Slowly, the recent events resurfaced in his mind. He was still on the very same sofa that he sat on when he walked in, but he has been toppled over and apparently covered with a blanket - he looked with some confusion at the woolen fabric.

His head still throbbed and his eyes stung as he attempted to get them used to the surrounding light, but at least his mind was not so dimmed as not to let him think clearly. He pushed himself up, attempting to get a clearer look at the room which he was in.

It was exactly in the same state as it was when he walked in. Except-

Valjean sat in one of the chairs motionlessly, his head resting on the table. Javert observed him for a moment. He could not see his face, but the rhythmical rising and falling of his chest indicated that the man was in deep slumber.

Careful not to make a noise, Javert stood up, leaving the crumpled blanket behind. He supported himself with the edge of the sofa as the room around him spun around. He waited for a while until the nauseous feeling went away, then straightened his back. Placing his feet with caution, trying not to make the floor creak, he walked towards the door.

He pushed the door, grateful that the hinges did not make a sound, and stepped out of the room.

“Monsieur Javert!” the sudden exclamation in a high voice made him jump up. “You are awake at last!”

He turned his face to notice Cosette descending down the stairs hastily, a smile painted over her face.

Before either of them said anything more, a noise could be heard from the room behind him.

“Javert?!” Valjean cried out with some panic with his voice. Then quick footsteps could be heard and he nearly crashed into the doorframe.

He breathed out with relief when he saw Javert glaring at him from the hall.

Cosette looked at him with some confusion, tilting her head to the side. “Hello papa, why are you shouting?”

“Oh,” Valjean said, blinking, “hello Cosette. I just thought- that our guest had left already,” he explained, glancing at Javert.

“I was just leaving,” Javert mumbled.

Both Cosette and Valjean turned to him suddenly.

“But-” Valjean started.

“I need to report for my duty,” he drawled. “I'm already late.”

“Oh, but that has been taken care of,” Cosette chirped happily.

Now the two other heads turned to her, and she grinned.

“What?” Javert demanded almost threateningly.

“You seemed unwell, monsieur l’inspecteur, so we decided to notify the station house of your absence today,” Cosette announced with the most charming smile she could manage. “I do not suppose there will be any problems with it.”

“That is great news,” Valjean turned to Javert. “You can stay,” he put pressure on each word, staring into Javert’s eyes firmly.

Javert averted his eyes and crossed his arms.

“Well,” Cosette said, “I'll ask Nicolette to prepare some food early.” She disappeared in one of the doorways.

They watched her leave in silence.

“Javert,” Valjean sighed after a moment, “let's get back into the drawing room.” He reached towards Javert’s arm.

Javert took a step back, avoiding Valjean’s hand. “No. You cannot keep me locked in here.”

“Please, you are in no state to-”

“ _My_ state is _my_ concern, and mine only,” Javert hissed. “You have no right-”

“Oh, _really_ ?” Valjean interrupted him with a huff. “And what right did _you_ have? To prevent me from departing like I was supposed to, to tell _them_ everything that they shouldn't have known and force me to live with that?” he drawled out the words with accusation as his voice got lower. “You gave me no choice then, you are getting none now - it's only fair. I have _every_ right. Now, _let's go_.”

He extended his arm towards Javert once more, and this time managed to grab his wrist. Slightly stunned by the outburst, the inspector did not protest when he was dragged back into the drawing room and seated at the table.

Valjean sat across from him, resting his elbows on the table and his chin on his hand, with furrowed brow. Javert crossed his arms and looked away, staring into the wall, stone-faced.

As they sat in stubborn silence, Valjean’s expression slowly grew softer and sadder. He sighed. “Javert.”

Javert did not react, still glaring to the side with a frown.

“Javert.”

“What?”

“Do you feel any better?”

“I feel imprisoned.”

“It's for your own good. But that's not what I meant.”

“Oh yes, I feel _great_ . And do you know what would make me feel even better? Some fresh air and a bit of _not being locked in here_.”

“For God’s sake, Javert, be serious!”

“I am,” he hissed. “Do you intend on keeping me here until I get all of your questions right or something?”

“I intend on keeping you here until you are back on your right mind. Or something.”

“How about you stop prying into my life instead?”

“ _Javert_.”

Javert rolled his eyes.

“We need to talk,” Valjean stated.

“We are talking.”

“No, you know what I mean.”

“Then we absolutely do not need to talk.”

“Javert, _please_.”

“Stop trying to do whatever it is you're doing. It's _not_ going to work.”

“You do not suppose I'll let you-”

“ _You_ are the last person who should be concerned with what I do or not do. Actually, wouldn't it be wonderful to be did rid of the only person in Paris who knows of your past and might just come to use it against you? And you don't even have to do a thing for this to happen! Use this opportunity this time,” his voice dropped. “Is it so hard to do _nothing_?”

“In this case? If doing nothing involved you dying-”

“Then you should definitely do nothing and allow me to make my own decisions. That is none of your business.”

“How is it none of my business if it's because of _me_?”

“Oh, and you intend to fix it by putting more of _you_ into my life? Nice plan,” Javert huffed.

Valjean blinked. “Oh. You mean-”

“Yes.”

“-that I'm making it worse with my presence?”

“ _Yes_. Can I go now?”

Valjean did not respond for a moment, staring down at the table.

“Then who should I pass you to?” he asked finally.

“What?”

“Someone needs to be watching over you. Show me such a person, then I will leave you alone.”

“Me. I am such a person. I can watch over myself just fine.”

“Yes, like you've proven last night. A relative? A friend?”

Javert narrowed his eyes.

“The letters,” Valjean sighed, “ones that were laying on your desk. Who were they for?”

“My landlady. I don't see-”

“And the other one?”

Javert glared at him. “The prefecture,” he said after a moment.

With no further comment and not without some satisfaction he watched as Valjean’s eyes grew wider.

“Wait, was it-” Valjean started, but did not finish the question.

Javert purposefully kept silent for a short while. “No. Not everything has to be about you, don't flatter yourself,” he snorted, leaning back in his chair. Seeing how Valjean breathed out with relief, he winced slightly. “So you _do_ still think that I might get you arrested. Then just why are you doing this?”

Valjean gaped at him. “This isn't about me!”

“How about we make a deal: I keep out of your life and ignore that there is a runaway convict walking around Paris, and you keep out of my life in return. Hm?”

“Keep out of your life _or lack thereof_?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“If I do, will you-”

“If you do, you will not concern yourself with what I do or not do.”

“Oh yes, of course - just first show me a person who _will_ do that.”

“Again, I don't need a supervisor, Valjean,” Javert scoffed.

“You need _help_ , Javert-”

“I do not, and most certainly not from you.”

“If I am the cause of this, let me at least try to fix it!”

Javert opened his mouth to answer, but instead they heard knocking on the door. He noticed how their conversations were often interrupted by something - for once, the odds were in his favour.

They both stood up when Cosette entered the room together with an old man - visibly much older than even Valjean.

Nearly dragging Cosette while leaning on her arm for support, the old man rushed towards Javert with his face beaming. “Monsieur Javert, I presume!” he held out his hand vigorously. “We had no chance to get introduced the last time you visited here - shame as it is! My name is Gillenormand, and it is my foolish grandson whom you have enlightened about some important matters lately, that I must thank you for!”

Javert shook his hand hesitantly with a greeting, taken aback by the unexpected flood of words. Cosette smiled apologetically.

“We really are living on a stroke of luck, aren’t we?” the old man laughed. “First he was saved from that irrational revolution by monsieur Fauchelevent,” he gesticulated at Valjean, who shifted on his feet uncomfortably, “then you came and rescued him! Ha, it is a mystery how everyone here is still alive! Speaking of that, where is that idiot boy of mine?”

“He still hasn't returned from the court,” Cosette shook her head. “But let's sit down, shall we?” she added quickly, using the brief pause in Gillenormand’s rant.

The old man’s constant chatter did not cease when they sat down, nor when Nicolette brought in soup. He complained about Marius, expressed his gratitude to Javert a few more times, commented the politics, and started telling stories varied between ones from his youth and ones about the current residents of his house.

At some point, Javert stopped paying any attention to him, absently mixing the contents of his bowl with a spoon. He realized that he had not eaten anything for over two days now - to be fair,  he had not planned being alive for so long so he did not bother with eating - but rather than hungry, he felt nauseous. He forced himself to sip some soup just not to sit there and stare at it.

In a way he was grateful for Gillenormand’s rambling  It was better than the awkward silence and way better than Cosette’s questions about the past. The meaningless chatter saved him from uncomfortable conversations - for now.

It only ended after it was interrupted by Nicolette’s voice. “Madame, Monsieurs? There is a visitor at the door,” she announced after entering the room. “In a police uniform,” she added in a quieter voice, casting a worried glance behind her.

Valjean and Javert’s heads jerked up nearly at once.

“Who?” Javert asked.

“He introduced himself with the name Auvray, monsieur.”

“Oh for- _ugh_ ,” Javert groaned. “What is he doing here? Is this also your doing?” he asked, turning to Cosette.

She shook her head. “We did not invite anyone.”

“Who is he?” Valjean asked. Although he sounded calm, his fingers were clenched on the edge of the table; he looked like he might break off a piece in a moment.

Javert rolled his eyes. “A junior officer. I don't suppose there is a chance that he knows you,” he said carefully, glancing at Gillenormand. Did he knew of Valjean’s past? He supposed not - he had referred to him as ‘Fauchelevent’ earlier.

Valjean seemed to relax a bit at this reply. “A friend of yours?”

“ _No_.”

“He is Marius’ friend, though.” Cosette smiled to Nicolette, ignoring Javert’s raised eyebrow. “Well, please ask him to join us, then.”

 

* * *

 

Javert waited at the side as Auvray exchanged greetings with everyone. His frown was met with a worried glance from the younger policeman.

“Well,” he started as soon as Auvray was introduced to Valjean and Gillenormand, “explain yourself now.”

“I came to check on you, monsieur l’inspecteur,” he announced, beaming.

Javert paused. “What for?”

“Ah, we got the letter in the morning and- well, it's not exactly in your habit to take leave like this, or take leave at all for the matter of facts- and it was not even sent by you or from your address! You see, inspector, we could not accept it as it was,” Auvray nodded, as if confirming his own words. “We had no idea what happened, and why didn't you at least write the letter yourself! It might have even been a kidnapping!”

Javert gave Valjean a short glare with raised eyebrows.

“Actually,” Auvray continued, “it's good to see you alive and standing, inspector, that situation was rather worrisome!”

Javert rolled his eyes. “Officer- and wipe that idiotic grin off your face- at this rate you will get expelled for lying to your superiors.”

Auvray needed no further encouragement to stop smiling.

“If anyone had seriously suspected a kidnapping or something of that sort, they would have sent someone to check it earlier, not half a day later. And if you had been there in the morning, you would just be done with your shift now, isn't it so? Say, what is the _real_ reason for you coming here after work today?”

“But we _have_ been worried, inspector!”

Javert just raised his eyebrows.

“And, uh, well,” Auvray stuttered, his face going from pale to a more red shade, “monsieur Marius also hasn't shown up for quite a few days now, and, ah, I recognised madame Cosette’s signature on the letter, so-” he cut off and shrugged uncomfortably. “But I suppose that I missed him here?”

“So the two of you really are bonding over spying on me. How delightful,” Javert scoffed.

“It’s- not like that, inspector! Besides, there have really been questions about that letter-”

“Oh,” Javert said flatly. “Then I'd better go there and explain the situation.”

“They have lived half a day like this, it can wait until tomorrow,” Valjean protested quickly. “Or you can send another letter.”

Auvray nodded. “If you're sick, inspector, then it's not-”

“I'm _fine._ And I will go. No need to further concern them with my absence,” he drawled out.

“You don't look like you're fine, monsieur,” Cosette noticed with a frown.

“Beside, you have only just joined us!” Gillenormand joined the protesting. “Too early to leave, I’d say!”

“And you're already excused for today,” Auvray shrugged. “Nobody would even suspect you of missing work for no important reason, inspector.”

“Not to mention that last time you left before we had a chance to talk properly,” Valjean added, nodding along.

Javert waved his hand in the air, trying to make the four people cornering him let him speak. “Enough. I'll be on my way, if you excuse me.”

“Then I'll accompany you,” Valjean crossed his arms.

“Accompany me?” Javert repeated, returning his gaze. “To the _police station_?”

“Yes,” Valjean didn’t move.

Javert narrowed his eyes. “No need to.”

“ _I insist_.”

“Papa, I'm not sure if you should be going for such long walks already,” Cosette noticed.

“Exactly,” Javert agreed.

“So I think both of you should stop being stubborn and sit down,” she crossed her arms.

“Oh, please,” Javert scoffed. “Now, if everyone would like to excuse me, I should hurry,” he said, directing himself towards the door.

He slipped out of the room, followed by Valjean, and soon everybody else as well. Promptly ignoring it, he marched toward his coat without waiting for it being handed to him.

He glanced over his shoulder. Valjean seemed to be busy with talking to Cosette, apparently ensuing her that he is, in fact, able to walk through the city without fainting and dying.

He was distracted and it would be a shame not to use this opportunity. He slid his hand into one of the pockets of Valjean's jacket, hanging next to his own. He felt the coldness of metal - he was glad to have remembered the right pocket. His hand enveloped his keys inside of the pocket, carefully enough not to make them clink. Risking a quick glance over his shoulder, just to make sure that nobody is watching him, he moved the keys to his own pocket. The last thing that Valjean should have is free access to his apartment.

There was also the matter of his gun. He looked back again to see if he should risk taking it, and he was met with Auvray’s gaze. No, he would rather not have the younger officer suspect him of pickpocketing Valjean. He had to let the gun go for now. He just hoped that Auvray did not notice him taking the keys earlier. There were no signs in his behaviour that might have suggested that he did.

Javert threw on his coat and instinctively reached into the pocket to take out his gloves. His hand only met the fabric of the coat - he realized that he did not have them with him. Or his hat. Or his cane. If it was possible for him to feel any worse, he now did.

He buttoned up his coat, substituting the comfortable feeling of having his skin covered by hat and gloves by hiding his face behind the collar.

He jerked back when Valjean’s hand appeared next to him as the man reached for his jacket. Javert watched him take it with a scowl. Apparently Cosette’s protests were not enough.

He mumbled some quick goodbyes and escaped through the front door before anyone could respond or notice; good manners were not his main concern right now.

He strode toward the street as quickly as he could without running. A creak and a soft thud could be heard behind him; he clenched his jaw, trying to walk even faster and ignoring the sound of rushed footsteps behind him.

Soon after he reached the street, Valjean joined his side, keeping up the pace almost effortlessly despite his limp. Javert did not acknowledge his presence with any word or even a glance. He only hid his face further into the collar and watched the cobblestone beneath his feet. Valjean also did not say anything, simply continuing to walk by his side.

 

* * *

 

This afternoon was not too busy in the station house. It was warm, the heat creating a lazy, summer-like atmosphere, and no serious or urgent cases pushed the officers to work. Some of them were wandering around the building, pretending to be busying themselves with something important, while in fact avoiding any sort of work.

A couple of such officers jerked up when the door to the station house flew open, then closed equally abruptly. The person who walked in was well known to each of them. He was wearing a black greatcoat, way too warm for this weather, and his blue eyes examined his surroundings with a grim expression, which was made worse by the dark circles underneath them. It was rather strange for them to see him without his hat and with his dark, grayed hair a bit messy rather than neatly tied back as usual. The man’s sudden entrance along with his appearance were enough to make most of the officers scurry away to other rooms with uneasiness, suddenly realizing the possibility of being caught slacking off.

One of them - a short young man with a head full of auburn curls and a round face - was stopped by a heavy hand landing on his shoulder. “You,” he heard a voice behind him.

He turned around, saying a quick prayer in his head. “Yes, monsieur l’inspecteur?”

“Is the commissary at the office at the moment?” Javert squinted at the officer before him. He could not recall his name.

“No, monsieur. Though he should arrive soon.”

“Great,” Javert commented, then turned towards the stairs, leaving the officer slightly confused but deeply relieved not to be in trouble.

He strode upstairs to his office and walked inside, not even bothering to close the door behind him. He nearly threw himself on the chair, then fished out a clean sheet of paper from the drawer in his desk. Dipping the pen in ink, he scribbled a few lines on it.

He dried the paper, barely caring enough not to smudge it, then folded it hurriedly. He found a clean envelope, tucked the letter into it, wrote a name on the front, sealed it and then clutched it in his hand and left the room just as abruptly as he had entered it.

He walked downstairs, jumping two steps at a time. He smacked the envelope onto the countertop. Hopefully the commissary will notice it. He could not be bothered to make any additional effort to get the letter to him - he had forgotten it as soon as he put it down.

He looked back at the front door as if he could see through the wood. Valjean did not come in - he waited on the street not to arise any unnecessary curiosity in the station house. He would probably join him as soon as he walks outside.

Fortunately, Valjean did not know that the station house has a back door.

 

* * *

 

Valjean shifted uneasily on his feet, pulling his hat lower over his forehead every time he saw a glint of police uniform in a window. He sheltered himself in the shadow of the building opposite to the station house; it gave him the possibility to see whenever the door opens, but also made him well visible for anyone in the building who would be curious enough to look. He knew how unlikely it was for any policeman other than Javert to recognise him now, here, after so many years. It did not calm him down at all.

He did not have to be doing that, he reminded himself. He was under no obligation to watch over Javert - on the contrary, he should rather be avoiding him by all means.

He looked up at the station house and paled at the sudden realization - Javert could now be filling an arrest warrant against him. Of course, he said that he was not going to arrest him, but seeing how he wanted to free himself of Valjean’s presence, getting him arrested seemed like a terribly simple way to do so.

Would he do that? Valjean decided that he no longer can trust his judgement of the man’s behaviour, given the events of last night. He would never suspect him of attempting suicide. Yet here they were. Javert could do just about anything, as far as he knew.

Perhaps he should leave. Give up, save his own skin, return home and carry on with his plans as if nothing ever happened. After all, there was never much sympathy between them, not even back in Montreuil-sur-Mer. He had saved Javert at the barricade, now Javert had saved him in return a few weeks ago - they were even. And that was all. Why should Javert’s fate or choices be his concern? It was not his fault.

Or was it?

Valjean squinted at the station house, drowning in sudden wonder. With a sigh, he peeled himself away from the building and stepped onto the busy sunny street.

 

* * *

 

The back door to the station house were not frequently used. Javert supposed that the extra key to them, one that he allowed himself to borrow, will not be missed for a while.

The door opened with a creak, revealing the narrow alley behind them. Javert wrinkled his nose - it was less than a pleasant place, with its horrible stench and lack of any sunlight. But it allowed him to reach the main street without being noticed.

He did not have any plan on where to go. Not his apartment - Valjean knew the address, he could not return there. Still, he needed to get away, he expected that Valjean might look inside the station if he will not show up for too long. He supposed that he could hide in one of Paris’ many blind alleys or crowded places. He knew the city well. If he could remain hidden until night, each of the bridges over the Seine would be an acceptable option.

He pushed his hands into the pockets of the coat as he walked through the alley. He regretted not having any less recognisable outfit, but he did not left any spare clothes at the station.

The street visible at the end of the alley was bathed in an orange light. The evening was not far away. He stepped out of the shadow, blinking to get used to the brightness.

He immediately froze.

A white-haired man standing at the corner of the street was looking towards the main entrance of the station house. From this spot he could see both the front door and the back alley.

Valjean turned his eyes towards the other exit. “Oh,” he said as he noticed Javert and walked toward him. “Well, I can’t say that I didn't expect it.”

For a moment, Javert watched him approach like a night animal suddenly caught in a beam of light. Then, he turned around and started running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Javert: Making my way downtown (to the Seine), walking fast  
> Valjean: JAVERT??  
> Javert: WALKING FASTER
> 
> Aaaanyway I'm back from vacation and I blame the lack of chapter or replies to comments in the past weeks on it. Because, well, this chapter had existed for a while now, hah
> 
> I don't know if you are aware, but this fic is not actually very likely to be finished? Because I look at the hits and kudos and think, wow, that's a lot of people to disappoint?? It just requires ~a lot~ of sorting out and my plans for it are rather blurry and incomplete, plus I'm not exactly a writer sooo you never know when I'm gonna disappear and never return again  
> I have like 2k written for the next chapter tho, so it'll happen probably. Just slowly. I'm just literally struggling with writing anything that isn't descriptions or Javert's sheer sarcasm. How the heck do I write character development?? Idk man, idk
> 
> Anyway, thank you all for reading and leaving comments and kudos!! I love the attention, I live for attention (and so does this fic)


	8. Bargaining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Javert keeps running away from his problems

Not the first time in his life Javert thanked the odds for his knowledge of all of the the narrow and rarely used alleyways of Paris. Despite everything, he could not use the main streets, filled with people. Being seen, possibly just hours before his death, running through the city and being chased by Valjean? That would create a good chance of him being accused of murder. That was not how it was supposed to look like.

So he ran through the alleys and paths in a random directions, passing as little people as he could. Still, he constantly heard irregular footfalls behind him, and Valjean’s voice occasionally calling out his name. He had hoped that he would not keep up the pace, but no matter where he went, he could not seem to lose him; the sounds would follow him everywhere. They echoed in his head; he was dizzy, he was nauseous and he dimly felt his panic rising, but he still could not find a way to hide. It was too crowded to use most paths and Valjean was too close to risk climbing anywhere. So he just continued running.

After a longer while of that chase, he stopped suddenly. He realized where his feet have taken him. He was near his own apartment. This part of the city was slowly becoming destitute as the night drew closer. On the other hand, too many people recognised him here to risk running through the streets and pulling attention to Valjean.

“Javert!”

He shuddered; the cry sounded close, _too close_. Without looking back, he broke back into running, picking the most desolate route to his apartment.

He got there in a few minutes. Barging through the door at full speed, he passed the stunned portress without a word and ran up a flight of stairs. He burst into his apartment, slamming the door open - thankfully, neither him nor Valjean remembered to lock the door before - fishing out the keys from his pocket. He accidentally dropped them; he looked at the object with accusation when he swept it up from the floor.

He hissed out some swears when he did not manage to get the key in the keyhole in a few tries; he kept shakily stabbing the wood instead. Finally, the door locked with a click and he breathed out, leaning back on it.

Only then it dawned on him how much of a horrible idea coming here was.

He pressed both of his hands to his face with a groan. He painfully aware that he was not thinking clearly - or at this point, even remotely logically. What kind of idea it was? But it was too late to turn back now - he could hear some noise downstairs.

He slid down onto the floor and curled up, resting his forehead on his knees. He breathed heavily, trying to calm his heartbeat down. Whether it was from running or the rush of panic, he could hear his own pulse drumming in his head. It only made his headache and dizziness worse. He rubbed his temple with exasperation; how did he get himself into that state?

He jerked up when he heard a quiet knocking.

“Monsieur?” he recognised the portress voice. “There is a man downstairs. Says that he needs to see you. Is everything alright?”

“Don't let anyone in here. Please,” he added, trying to sound as collected as possible and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

There was a small pause on the other side of the door. “As you wish,” the portress responded without certainty, then Javert could hear her footsteps growing quieter. His head fell back into his knees.

 

* * *

“He is not in his apartment, monsieur.”

Valjean sized the portress up; he would bet his head on it being a lie. “Madame, I've just seen him come in. This is urgent. _Please_.”

The woman just shook her head. “I cannot let you in.”

Valjean clenched his jaw. “Can I perhaps convince you to just ignore my presence?” He put his hand into his pocket, searching for money; if bribes were necessary, he was more than willing to give them.

The portress crossed her arms. “You don't understand - monsieur Javert is a non-bothersome, quiet tenant, who always pays his rent on time and has never inflicted any sort of trouble like some of my other tenants did. Not a particularly nice person he may be, but he is a lawful man who values his privacy. I will not risk any conflict with him that might harm my income,” she huffed. “Please, leave.”

“Madame!” Valjean clasped his hands together in a pleading gesture, becoming increasingly nervous by the delay. “It's for his own good! I- You have seen how he acted, is that so? Madame, I'm afraid that he is hurt, I have to come up there-!”

“And who are you to-”

“His, uh, _friend_.”

She looked at him with doubt. “Monsieur, for years that the lived here not once have I heard of anyone who would call himself a friend of his.”

“I- _oh_ ,” Valjean blinked. “Well, there is someone now. Madame, _please_ ,” he cupped her hands, “I need to hurry! He won't pay much rent if he bleeds out on the floor now, will he? Just-” he shuffled around his pocket with one hand- “I will pay for any harm that might do,” he pushed a small roll of banknotes into the woman’s palm, “just please ignore my presence here!”

With that, he passed next to the woman, jumping up the stairs and leaving the confused portress staring at the amount of money in her hand.

 

* * *

 

Javert twitched at the sound of the door handle being pushed down. The door moved a bit under the force, but the lock prevented it from opening. He leaned back on the wood, as if trying to keep it closed.

Perhaps he should try to block it with furniture. He could not bring himself to stand up.

“Javert?” he heard a questioning voice behind the door. There was one more pull at the handle. “Are you there? Did you lock the door?” There was a pause. He thought that he heard the rustling of fabric. “The keys- did you take the keys? Javert?!”

Javert promptly ignored the cries, rubbing his temples and squinting. The room before him seemed a bit blurry for some reason.

“Open the door- are you okay there? Javert?” the voice continued a bit faster. “Did you- Javert, answer me! Can you hear me? I swear, if you don't respond, I will ram the door! Javert-”

“Oh, shut it, would you?” Javert groaned, squeezing his eyes shut.

The voice behind the door sighed with relief. “Good. Open the door.”

“No, thank you, I'm not currently accepting guests,” Javert replied.

“Javert, _please_.”

“Stop following me around. It's irrational.”

“ _You_ are irrational! Stop being stubborn and open the door.”

Javert made no reply, staring grimly at the wall before him.

After a moment of silence he heard footsteps growing further away. He frowned. Valjean went downstairs? This has been easier than he thought it would be.

Supporting himself on the door, he stood up slowly and rather shakily. He fought back the dizziness it caused and stumbled toward the desk. He laid both of his hands on the wooden surface, leaning on it, and looked half-consciously at the window.

“Javert?” he heard the voice behind the door again.

He turned around, wincing. So Valjean still did not leave.

“Are you still there?” the voice asked.

Javert leaned back on the desk.

“Are you okay?” this question was asked in a slightly higher pitch.

Javert sighed quietly. Should he barricade the door after all?

“Did you do something? Javert?!”

Javert laid his hands on the chair, examining it in silence. Maybe he could block the handle with it. Still, he would need to move something heavier to effectively block the entrance.

He heard a metallic click. He froze for a second. Then he picked up the chair and rushed with it toward the door.

The door opened before he reached it.

Valjean nearly ran into the room, then stopped immediately when he faced Javert. He stood still for a moment, staring at him with some astonishment. He sighed with relief. “Oh, thank God,” he walked up to Javert and put his hands on his shoulders. “You're alive!” he exclaimed, shaking him lightly.

Javert stared at him with his eyes continuously narrowing, letting the chair drop to the floor. Then he noticed that one of Valjean’s pockets visibly contained a heavier object.

When Valjean shook him by his shoulders, he reached toward that pocket, pulling out the gun - one that belonged to himself. In one swift move, he put it to Valjean’s face, poking his forehead with the barrel. “At this rate,” he hissed out, “it’s you who won't be.”

Startled, Valjean took a step back when the metal touched his skin - but no more. He frowned at the pistol. “You won't do it,” he stated stayed with certainty in his voice.

“Oh, really?” Javert growled back. Valjean was right, he realized. He would not shoot. Still, he did not stop aiming at him.

“Beside, murder is illegal,” Valjean shrugged nonchalantly, way too relaxed considering the situation.

“So is harbouring criminals. And so is breaking into others’ apartments. Now, leave,” Javert commanded, waving the gun in the direction of the door.

“Now you're just being repetitive,” Valjean said, pushing the door closed. “Put it down and let's talk.”

Javert stared at him with disbelief. “Do you suppose I'm joking?”

“I don't even know if you're capable of such a thing as joking. Please, put down the gun-”

“I'm warning you-”

“Javert-”

“Oh for God’s sake!” Javert exclaimed. He moved the gun, pulling it close to his own head, and pulled the trigger.

There was a quiet click.

Nothing happened.

He looked at the gun as if it has done him a personal offense. It was not loaded.

Valjean’s face was as pale as if Javert had actually blown up his brain. “I was really hoping that you wouldn't,” he mumbled.

Javert glared at him, his grip on the gun tightening. “How _dare_ you,” he growled, flinging the useless pistol at him. Valjean managed to catch it, what agitated him even more. “You _knew_ it!”

“Yes, obviously! I was not about to keep a loaded gun around you now, mind you! And you've proven me right about unloading it.” He put the gun back into his pocket, then stepped forward and grabbed Javert’s wrist. “Javert-”

“Cut it off, will you?” Javert’s hand jolted back, but was not freed of Valjean’s grip. “You annoy me,” he growled. “You have no-”

“Yes, yes, I have no right, it's none of my business, I shouldn't be here- I've heard all that and you will change exactly nothing by repeating it! I understand and I'm not going to comply,” Valjean exclaimed with exasperation. “It's my turn now, so how about we sit down and have a talk instead of having me chase you back and forth through the city?”

“And what's the point of this?” Javert scoffed.

Valjean paused. “Let's make a deal.”

“No,” Javert cut him off.

“Give me a week.”

“A week for what?”

“Convincing you not to die. “

“Ah, right, good luck with that. And then you would leave me be?”

“If I would be sure that you are on your right mind.”

Javert huffed. “Just what kind of deal is it, then?”

“Alternately, I will remain here right now until it happens.”

“Heavens, no.”

“So?”

Javert considered it for a moment. Currently he was on the losing position, with not many possible options. He did not see a way to free himself from Valjean at the moment, but perhaps in a week?

After a year, what difference a week or two would make?

“Fine. A week. And you're not allowed full keep me locked anywhere.”

“If you won't try to do anything to yourself during this time. Do you swear?”

“Contracts signed by convicts are not legally binding,” Javert pointed out with a roll of his eyes.

Valjean winced slightly. “It's not a contract, it’s a promise. And you don't break these, “ he said with more certainty than he actually had. “Swear.”

Javert sighed. “I swear not to actively try to kill myself during the next week, “ he said flatly, as if he was reading the text, “given that you will stop trying to keep me a prisoner like you do now,” he glared at him with hostility. “Here, you can leave now.”

Valjean stood still for a moment as if he had expected it to be much harder to achieve. Then, he backed off toward the door, glancing around the room nervously. “I will be back soon,” he added as he opened the door.

 _I don't doubt it_ , Javert said bitterly in his mind. “Don't,” he replied simply.

Throwing the last worried look at him, Valjean disappeared behind the door.

Slightly surprised at how easy it was, Javert was left alone in the room with no idea what to do now. He could not go to work today, and he was done with all paperwork he had in here. He could also not break the word he just gave.

He listened as the footsteps on the stairs became quieter when Valjean walked down. Still slightly suspicious, he remained still, leaning back on his desk. After a while, he heard a single creak on the stairs. He would bet his right arm on it being the sound of Valjean returning; he fought back the urge to burst out of the door and hit him with something heavy.

Having already gone through too much interaction with this man for his liking, he decided to ignore his possible presence just behind the door, as unnerving as it was. He walked up to the door and locked it, leaving the key in it.

He looked around the room, crossing his arms. He will have to survive this week somehow. Or even longer, to ensure that Valjean leaves him alone. The prospect seemed unpleasant now that he was set on not surviving, but it was not something impossible for him to do.

Taking off his coat, he decided that going to sleep is the best idea for now. He still felt exhausted and sore despite having slept throughout half of the day, and he had nothing more productive to do at the moment. He had to be ready for the work tommorrow, because his plan was to spend as much time on it as possible.

He laid down in bed and fell asleep almost immediately, not hearing any other noises from the other side of the door.

He had woken up multiple times this evening and night, his consciousness returning to him stubbornly every few hours, but each time he forced himself back to sleep. Nothing out of ordinary had disturbed him - he heard no noises indicating that someone might be creeping at his door. All that he heard were muffled footsteps, an indicator of activity from some other residents of the building.

He crawled out of the sheets the moment he woke up and realized that the dim morning sunlight had already reached his window. Though he had no need to wake up this early, he would prefer to reach his post earlier, considering how he missed an entire day of work yesterday.

He almost regretted it when he stood up. He struggled to see the room before him as his surroundings seemed blurred, as if he was watching them from underneath the surface of water. Both his head and his stomach throbbed with dull pain - the hunger seemed to have finally reached him. Ignoring his body’s protests, he pushed himself toward his wardrobe to get ready for the day.

Just as he was tying his cravat, he heard a knock on the door. He stared at it with puzzlement, as if the slate of wood could grant him answers to his questions. Who would not only knock to his door, but also do it at such an ungodly hour? He finished tying the cravat and strode toward the door.

Behind it, he was faced with the portress, whose expression must have shown as much confusion as his own. She was holding a tray, on which rested a mug with steaming liquid which Javert’s nose immediately identified as coffee, as well as a plate of sliced bread, some cheese and a small container of jam.

He had to remind himself to look at the portress’ face rather than the food. “What is the meaning of this?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Breakfast?” she phrased the word as if it was a question. “The new tenant asked me to bring it to you, assuring me that you have already woken up,” she lifted up the tray a bit. “I tried to explain that it is not in your habit, but he insisted.”

Javert stopped listening after the first few words. “What do you mean, the new tenant?” he asked in the calmest voice he could muster.

“Ah, that man who moved in last evening. Old, white hair, broad shoulders, claims to be a friend of yours. Yesterday he had-” she stopped, remembering not to tell how he got the key to Javert’s apartment- “uh, visited you, monsieur? I trust that you know him? Monsieur?” she said in questioning voice, disturbed at how the inspector glared at her as if she had at least grown a third eye.

“Which room is he renting?” Javert asked, no longer managing to keep his voice from turning into a growl.

The portress took a step back, simultaneously stretching the arms holding a tray toward Javert. “The one directly above yours,” she explained uncertainly.

Javert glared at the tray as if it had done him a personal offense. “Thank you,” he drawled out, taking a hold of it.

The portress scurried back downstairs as Javert returned to his room. He set the tray down on the table with a thud, barely avoiding spilling the coffee. Then he turned on his heel and stormed out of the room.

He stomped upstairs with an expression that would have chased away anyone who would happen to be on his way. As soon as he reached the door on the upper floor, he pushed the door open with so much force that he might have as well rammed or kicked it.

The book that Valjean was reading fell on the floor at the same moment at which the door struck the wall.

“You!” Javert nearly roared. “What do you think you're doing?!”

Valjean looked rather startled, as if he was ready to flee at any moment, but seeing that it was Javert who entered, he breathed out with relief. “Oh. It's just you.”

Javert glared at him with open hostility. “Of course it's _just_ me! Because I _just_ live here, if you haven't noticed! This noted,” he hissed, “how dare you be here?!”

“Well,” Valjean said, picking up the dropped book, “this room was up for renting. So I decided to rent it. I thought it would be convenient.”

“Convenient?” Javert repeated louder. “A breach of my privacy is _convenient_ to you?”

“It’s not-”

“And you pestered the portress to bring me breakfast?!”

“I could hear that you have woken up, so-”

“That is none of your concern!”

“Uh, excuse me?” said a slightly irritated voice from the staircase, causing Javert to turn around. “I must ask you to keep it down a bit, messieurs,” the portress huffed at him and Valjean. “It is still early. Some other tenants are asleep,” she said as she crossed her arms.

“My apologies,” Javert replied somewhat dryly. “Excuse me,” he added quickly as he passed her and headed back toward his room.

He could hear Valjean apologizing to the portress as well. He barely stopped himself from smacking the door closed, putting all effort into closing it quietly instead.

He looked around the room, locking his eyes on the tray with food. He wanted to take it and throw it at Valjean’s face. His entire body seemed to suggest otherwise.

Begrudgingly, he sat at the table and started eating. No point wasting food just to show his displeasure, he told himself.

He finished in a matter of minutes, put on his coat and hat and left for work in a hurry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly tho the amount of my insecurity abt this fic is amazing  
> It took like 3 chapters for Javert to chill for a while  
> Also it's tagged with the ship, and after like 24k words all I have is Javert flinging objects at Valjean  
> My kind of ship, yes  
> We'll get there  
> Maybe
> 
> THE WORD COUNT IS ALMOST 24601 UGH
> 
> Thank you for all your lovely comments even if it takes me half an eternity to respond <3


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